Knots, Ties and Tides
by Mariagoner
Summary: When Ashe asks Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had no idea that this was what her Queen had in mind... Features Penelo, Ashe, Larsa, LarsaXPenelo, somewhat.
1. Chapter 1

If anyone asks, this is Midnightdiddle's fault. She wrote me an abusive-Vaan fic that _worked_ and I wanted to try something equally brain-breaky for her. And me being me, it's probably going to start out as farce and darken into something actually _serious_ later. Please send help ASAP before much more of this is written! And much love to Artemischan for helping with the title and summary of this part.

Comments, corrections and criticism are, as always, completely welcome and loved! After all, a little encouragement never fails to add a bit of inspiration... and I really mean this. Really and sincerely! I'm a big girl and I can definitely appreach good concrit when it comes.

This is, btw, a follow-up to a short earlier fic titled **Seedling**.

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 1**

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Characters/Pairings: Penelo, Ashe, Larsa**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Ashe asks Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had **_**no**_** idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

The first time Ashe had talked about the plan that would completely turn Penelo's life upside down, Penelo had mostly dismissed it as a sign that all the 'seeing dead people stuff' her liege had been doing as of late had harvested the seeds of madness in her brain.

She could still remember that first conversation clearly, with the sort of perfect memory that trauma victims often had at the first sign of impending insanity. It had been just after the first time they had arrived in Garif village, after Ashe and Larsa had gone through yet another session of brain storming and mutual angsting and tragic eyebrow raising that seemed to be part of the bread and butter for the nobility of Ivalice. She and Vaan had been patiently watching the two bicker and Ashe have her usual round of I'mma-stab-someone-in-the-eye-before-it's-all-over breakdowns before plans that neither Vaan or she formulated were made and they were ready to be bundled off to some new and unexplored territory. And Larsa had somehow been there and apparently they were going to head off to Mount Bur Sword-in-Face for his sake and Dalmasca's sake and god-knows-who-else's sake. And all was as it should have been and Penelo had been turning back to take one last look at Garif village before they set off before the touch of a dainty but very powerful hand on her shoulder had thrown her off entirely.

Which only made sense, because turning around, she had seen said hand attached to the stern face of what pretty much had to be the core reason for their journey… and felt her heart drop right to her kicky booted feet. Because Ashe was… great, she guessed, in a lot of ways. But hers was not exactly the face you looked forward to for good news… well, unless you were capable of inhuman amounts of masochism like Basch, or something. And judging from the set of her jaw and the ominous light in her eyes (never mind that it was almost always there-- they looked _really_ creepy right now), Ashe had Something She Wanted To Say.

All Penelo could do was hope that it wouldn't require use of Ashe's stiff slapping stance. She'd heard from Vaan of how, after experiencing it, Basch couldn't chew food properly for _days_.

"I do believe," Ashe began rather ominously, "that in light of recent events, we ought to start discussing some matters that might be Of Use To Our Crown and Country. And in order to do that, Penelo, I also believe that we must now speak of the Sacrifices We Dalmascans Must Made for Our Motherland's Sake. In Private. Where No One Else Can Interfere."

Penelo could all but hear the capital letters falling in place. Gulping and casting one desperate look over her shoulder (where, oddly enough, _Larsa_ looked as though he were patiently waiting for them to finish), she wheezed out a sort of yes and let the future queen of Dalmasca lead her away.

It was to be the first, though not last, of her many, _many_ mistakes.

* * *

True to form, Ashe started off with reams and reams of exposition and back story that Penelo had by now realized was mandatory for pretty much every royal she'd ever met. Ashe had started off by talking about the noble history of Dalmasca, about the Duty and Responsibility of the royalty of their mutual motherland, about the need for the Common People to support such a role… and many, many, _many_ other subjects Penelo wouldn't have been able to recall seconds after Ashe had spoken of them.

Most of the time, Penelo had been content to nod along and murmur yes at the appropriate time and try not to set Ashe off and get her spleen sliced out for her troubles. If she had perhaps paid a little more attention, she might not be in the predicament she was in now. But Ashe, for all her great qualities, tended to be a pretty long-winded narrator and Penelo had tuned out around the time that she had begun to extol the virtues of her ancestors for providing strong ties for Dalmasca and forging alliances that would keep them safe from aggressive foreign empires and giving the people of their time a guide to follow and bippity boppity boo, Penelo wasn't really following.

It was only when Ashe had started talking about the purge of nobility conducted by the Archadians over the past two years and how she would need to start filling those ranks in once she finally regained her Crown that Penelo snapped to attention and starting wondering what it meant for _her_, right here. Though Ashe had her _quirks_, she didn't seem the type to just randomly drag people off in order to spout random facts about Dalmasca, no matter _how_ much Appropriate Pride She Had In Her Country.

That was probably why Penelo was currently trying to talk through her astonishment and the lump in her throat and why Ashe was cocking one sly eyebrow at her, as though pleased that she had managed to surprise her subject after all.

"Are you," Penelo started to say, though her throat seemed unwilling to cooperate. "Are you trying to saying that when this is all over and we get you back where you belong, you want to make Vaan and me...?"

It was a crazy idea. It was ridiculous, bizarre and absolutely insane idea, even for Ashe, and it couldn't possibly be coming true here. Her parents had been shop-keepers and his parents had been potion makers and the whole idea of them-- getting titles-- and estates-- and being noble type people here was just--

But from the suddenly mischievous light to Ashe's crazy, crazy eyes, that just might be the case. "Not only that, Penelo, but I am also quite willing to make _you_ in particular one of the highest in the lands of Ivalice."

Her mother had always told Penelo never to look gift chocobos in the beak but even past her enormous surprise, something about that struck her as vaguely... _fishy_. Penelo supposed that she and Ashe had gotten along well in the past but they'd never been especially close, not the way she and Fran had become. "I'm, uh, I'm honored, really! But... is there any reason _why_? Because otherwise this all seems a little, er, unexpected here."

There was suddenly a rather sardonic tilt to Ashe's smile. "Ah, perhaps you _will_ make a better noble than even I assumed. Wariness is ever a quality we need to keep close in hand. And I have... well, let me simply say that I have noticed a few qualities in you that anyone in my future cortege ought to cultivate."

Huh. Unless Ashe needed a noble healer or fiend-killer or something when she became queen, Penelo still felt immensely clueless about what on earth she could mean. "Thank you? I think?"

Ashe actually laughed at that, a warm and surprisingly pleasant laugh that sounded nothing like the cackle she usually tended to give when killing fugly things very, very quickly. _That_, at least, was reassuring. "I mean where your budding diplomatic capabilities are concerned, mostly. I'm especially impressed by how quickly you manage to... endear yourself to certain very interesting people. For example, I speak of the special connection you seem to have forged with Lord Larsa Solidor during the few weeks you spent together at Bhujerba, before we were even properly introduced. The two of you _are_ quite close now, yes?"

"Oh," Penelo said, and suddenly knew just what to say. She supposed she quite liked Larsa, bossy though he could be, and it would make sense for Ashe to want to learn more about him considering the way he was asking them to schlep around Ivalice. "I-- yeah, I guess we are, a bit. Larsa's very nice, though a little bossy and he's a lot better than I expected him to be considering his, well, _family_."

A muscle in Ashe's cheek twitched even as she forced another smile. Penelo felt her pain. She didn't particularly feel any great affection for Larsa's kin either. "I'm grateful to hear of that. Vo-- others have spoken well of him and I can only hope to trust him more in the future. And he was kind to you during your stay?"

Penelo could almost _feel_ herself blushing at the implications, which was really just silly. "Yeah, he was. Larsa took care of... well, pretty much _everything_ for me when we were staying at your uncle's estate. And wherever he went, he pretty much took me along, even if it was just to the market-place. He wouldn't even let that awful Judge Ghis talk to me, which I'm _still_ grateful for."

Ashe's eyes suddenly seemed to pierce right through her. "So I suppose you would consider him a dear friend to you?"

Penelo found herself nodding slowly, cautiously, trying not to set Ashe off. "I guess so. I mean, we haven't known each other for too long but I do like him. But what does that have to do with...?"

"Good," Ashe whispered, almost to herself, as though she had not even heard Penelo's timid question. "That's a better starting point than most have, after all." And then, as though feeling the weight of Penelo's eyes on her, she forged on. "These are trying times, Penelo, and I may have to come to ask favors of you that you may be... leery of fulfilling. But surely you must realize that this is a time that requires great sacrifices from all of us. Even when we did not expect events to unfold in this manner."

If Penelo hadn't been in the presence of her princess and future queen, she probably would have taken Ashe by the shoulders and shook her as hard as necessary until she began to talk like a normal human being. But instead, she blinked hard and said, "Maybe?"

Ashe smiled ruefully at nothing in particularly, possibly lost in the past or her memories of happier times or just her standard haze of blue-blooded crazy. "But do realize I would never ask you to do what I would not do for Dalmasca myself, Penelo. But I was happy, however, with my lot in the past. It was no great sacrifice for me then and, despite the age difference, I do not believe it shall be different for you in the coming days."

No matter how many private doubts Penelo tended to harbor about Ashe's sanity, she could still recognize her would-be Queen's thorny kindness when it came. "I... That's really nice of you, Ashe. Really. I'm not sure what you're talking about but... but anyway, you know I'm definitely willing to do anything to help you, if it'll also help Dalmasca. After all, it's my home too, right?" And the smile Ashe shot her afterwards-- the beautiful, thankful but almost _brittle_ smile-- made Penelo almost feel as though she wasn't agreeing to something hopelessly strange right now.

"Good," Ashe murmured again, and let her hand rest on Penelo's shoulder for another moment. "Good-- because what I will need to ask of you soon _will_ be difficult, Penelo. But I have no doubt that you'll be able to rise to the occasion here." And with that, Ashe turned and walked away to where the rest of their party (and Basch in particular) awaited...

…Leaving Penelo with a growing knot in her stomach and the conviction that everything might be changing for her, very, _very_ quickly.

* * *

The slow walk to and through the Golgomore Jungles afterwards was, to put it mildly, somewhat completely unnerving.

Now, Penelo had always prided herself as being a pretty affable person. She wouldn't have been the Number One Sales Associate in Rabanastre for three years in the running if she hadn't had the ability to charm people with her innate friendliness whenever she needed to it. Hell, Ashe had just talked about making her nobility for just that reason, even if her reasons for doing so were still hazy. But even Penelo was willing to admit that being escorted everywhere by a preteen prince of a foreign empire was a sign of said charm getting _a little_ out of hand here.

Of all the people to have apparently attracted… Life, clearly, had a strange sense of humor where she was concerned. But then, looking down at her hand intertwined with that of her newest friend, Penelo had to concede that it probably could have made worse jokes at her expense. And when Larsa turned to flash a smile at her and tuck her fingers into the fold of his arm, Penelo smiled back and let him do as he pleased.

It was funny, truly funny. Honestly, most boys that Penelo knew probably would have sawed their own wrists off before they let a _girl_ touch them and infect them with their rabid, feminine cooties. But Larsa was surprisingly-- touchy feely, honestly, what with the whole grabbing her hands the first time they met and hauling her off to a Bhujerban sugar shack for protection and getting down on his knees to pledge his eternal protection on his family name and what have you here. If he had been just a few years older, she probably would have had to slap him up a bit for 'taking liberties' with an innocent (hah!) young girl. As it is, she vaguely felt it'd probably end up being i him /i doing the slapping.

But right now, they were strolling arm and arm through the cramped corridors of the Golgomore jungle, only occasionally killing fiends when they made it past the rest of the party. For some reason, Ashe seemed intent on letting them "have time to make a proper re-acquaintance." And Penelo probably should have worried more about Ashe's... for lack of a better word, creepy secret plotty thingy, but it was surprisingly hard to concentrate on her worries about Ashe's strange hints when she had Larsa chatting off in her ear.

And that was another thing that set Larsa apart from every other boy she'd practically ever known. He could probably dislocate an elemental's eardrums when he was _really_ excited. And now, when he was telling her all about pretty much everything there was to know about his home, he was demonstrating just that technique.

Currently, he was talking about the beauty of the imperial gardens of Archades with all the confidence of a man twice his age. "And I am sure you will greatly enjoy watching the 'toujours pur' in our private garden blossom in the spring evenings-- I mean, as long as both my father and brother are able to attend. They both have such busy schedules and so many functions to attend… but I'm sure they will somehow find the time to meet with you, as is proper. As would be their delight, even. It has been a long time since House Solidor has taken in someone so charming."

Of course, just because Larsa could spew out words faster than the average esper could spew out blasphemies didn't mean he was making much sense to her. He'd been confusing her from the beginning of their conversation, from the first moment he had greeted her and asked when she'd be available to come back with Archades. Maybe 'those of House Solidor' had some sort of weird habit of collecting people they had met abroad?

Penelo tried not to speculate _too_ much about why that might be the case… or what they did with the eventual bodies.

In any case, she sort of doubted she'd ever get a chance to see anything bloom in Archades, though she didn't want to deflate Larsa's dreams by saying so. Instead, she smiled at her new friend, which was not hard to do, considering how damn interesting he could be, even the things he talked about… worried her a little. "That sounds really neat, Larsa! But, um, what are 'toujours pur' supposed to be, anyway?"

This seemed to activate whatever part of Larsa's brain was in charge of exposition. "They're a sort of flower-- a remarkably _useful_ flower-- that is cultivated within my families gardens. Besides being rather beautiful, it's remarkable for it's property as a natural 'truth serum.' More than once, it's helped those in our family find out critical state secrets through a proper round of administration."

…Penelo had _no words_. But from the earnest way Larsa was looking up at her, she had to say _something_ anyway. "That's, uh… that's really clever of your family! I think. As long as all that… administrating… doesn't end up… killing anybody…"

It was rather amazing to see how intimidating Larsa's face could be in the next moment. "Of course not, Penelo. I'm honestly surprised you could ever believe my family-- or my father-- capable of such a thing."

"Of course not," Penelo parroted back obediently, sweat starting to bead on her forehead in a way that had nothing to the jungle heat. She held no great love for the ruling house of Archades, especially considering their hand in the war in Dalmasca two years earlier, but she didn't want to anger him either. Somehow, she thought it might send all of Ashe's confidence in her diplomatic abilities swirling down the proverbial drain. "I really didn't mean-- but anyway, what do those flowers look like? Are they big? Pale? Pretty?"

Larsa's teeth apparently had the supernatural ability to gleam even in near-dark settings. "Ah, not quite. They are indeed quite beautiful… but they are also very small, and very pale, and need careful cultivation away from the rougher elements to bloom properly. Rather like you, actually."

…She was just going to pretend that he had never said that last line. And that he was not currently beaming up at her expectantly. And that he was not pulling her forward quickly, despite her lagging pace. Not when he was only 13 or 14 or however old he was, anyway. "Gee, Larsa, that's… interesting…"

"Isn't it?" And without any further warning, he was tugging her fingers closers into his elbow. Apparently, she'd been losing her grip without even realizing it. "Please don't let go of me, Penelo. There appear to be many fiends in this place, even with the rest of the party guarding us. I very much wouldn't appreciate it if you somehow slipped away."

And that was another thing that set Larsa apart from pretty much every other boy she'd ever known. She wasn't sure if it was due to some weird notion of 'noblisse oblige' or wanting to rescue a real life damsel in distress or maybe just loneliness… but he was probably the most chivalrous soul she had ever known. He had been intent on guarding her and catering to her every whim when she had been part of is 'cortege' in Bhujerba, and had even asked her if perhaps she'd want to stay by his side a bit longer and travel with him to Archades afterwards. If Penelo didn't know any better, she'd have thought that he had a bit of a crush on her.

And even if she did know better, she was willing to ignore it. Much easier in the long run this way.

"That's kind of you," she finally said. "To, y'know, try and protect me from everything. I don't really think I've ever had anyone try and do that for me-- at least, not for the last couple of years anyway." That was likely due to the fact that almost everyone she knew and loved was dead-- but now was probably not the time to mention that. "It's been really, um, fun to have my own personal guardian. And you've been doing a great job as well!"

"Well, it only makes sense for me to guard you," Larsa murmured around another brilliant smile, "seeing as how you are my intended and all. It would hardly do to let anyone or thing that wanted to spirit you away right now."

Penelo blinked at him slightly. Perhaps she had heard him wrong. He couldn't have possibly meant… "You intended to…?"

Larsa blinked back, apparently now just as confused. "My intended, Penelo. You I are /i my intended, aren't you? After all, the Lady Ashe i must /i have already spoken to you of the marriage contract she is currently arranging between the two of us to foster peace for all."

It was probably a good thing that the village of the terrifying-amazon-bunny-women turned out to be very close to their current location. Poor Basch probably had enough to deal with already without adding on the frustration of having to carry her unconscious body all over Ivalice as well.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I feel as though I ought to warn any readers this might have sucked in ahead of time. I can't promise that the quality of this fanfic is always going to be high. But I set myself the goal of trying to write and eventually finish a multi-chapter chapter fic and I'm going to try to do it with this, since it actually has a relatively simple plot, compared to previous efforts. So please bear with me when the writing style gets patchy… and feel free to throw things in the form of pointed reviews when I get something wrong! This is a learning experience more than anything else, after all. 


	2. Chapter 2

This is still Midnightdiddle's fault, though Calculating!Politican!Ashe is Mithrigil's contribution more than anything else. Comments, corrections and criticism are, as always, completely welcome and loved! After all, a little encouragement never fails to add a bit of inspiration... and, since I'm determined to see this as far as it can go, feedback about what's working and what's not would really help.

And a big thank you goes to everyone who helped me in the previous chapter. This would sincerely not have so many Capital Letters of Death and Destruction were it not for you all. ;)

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 2**

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Characters/Pairings: Penelo, Ashe, Larsa, Larsa/Penelo (Somewhat)**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Ashe asks Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had **_**no **_**idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

After the fact, Penelo's only consolation was that she hadn't done the maidenly thing and actually fainted.

As a suspiciously amused Vaan had let her know, she hadn't really _passed out_ so much as she had been _knocked out_-- apparently by some fiend that was the downright dastardly evil cousin of the adorable hares that tended to bound about the Giza plains during dry season. Not that, Vaan had added after she had time to process it all, she had exactly been all that brave herself. Was she really sure she was up to all this daring-do if one stray bunny wabbit could take her out…?

She was sure and the boot she had sent hurtling at his head was a just meant to be more reassurance of that fact. Laughing, Vaan had ducked out and said that it was time for him to leave to keep someone more grateful company and that Ashe needed to see her anyway.

And in another moment, Ashe stepped into the little hut the scary-amazon-bunny-women had let her take shelter in and Penelo's heart rose somewhere around the vicinity of her throat.

It seemed as though it was time for another round of capital letters and Penelo wasn't sure how many more of those she could endure.

"So I take it," Ashe began slowly, "that Lord Larsa apparently told you of what we had planned for you rather before I gave him permission to do so. But Penelo, I wanted to let you know that nothing I told you earlier was a deception. And all that I want to tell you now is--"

"Yeah," Penelo interrupted and found herself floundering under the now concrete fact that everything in Larsa's last conversation apparently _hadn't_ been a fever-induced dream after all. "Yeah, he did. So I guess you really _are_ trying to marry me off without even telling me about it for the sake of, god, I don't know, Dalmasca or whatever. I guess you really do want--" And she shouldn't be raising her voice right now, she shouldn't be speaking louder and louder, she shouldn't even be allowed to _dream_ talking this way to Ashe, to _Princess_ Ashelia B'nargin _Dalmasca_, to the woman who would be rule over her home as soon as all of this was over.

She shouldn't-- she musn't-- she couldn't-- but somehow, she was doing it anyway. And if she was a better person, she might have felt appeased by the deep flush suffusing Ashe's perfect features.

But it was just too damn bad, Penelo thought grimly, that the bubbling fury building up inside her didn't leave much room for shame or patriotism right now.

"Are you really trying to go through with this? To marry me off to Larsa or some other royal for some-- some-- for some _political points_ or something like that? Because I won't. I just won't let you. I'm not going to go along and I don't care if I'm supposed to be your subject or your _servant_-- you can't make me and I won't let you to do it to me either. I'm not going to just roll over and let you decide the rest of my life--"

But whatever else she was going to say was swallowed up by the look on Ashe's face. If Ashe had been tense, had been angry, had been _enraged_-- if she had been all of those things, Penelo could have dealt with it. Penelo could have swept it away and stormed off in a fit and gone back to Rabanastre and spent the rest of her days working as a shop girl while thinking of the lucky escape she had made away from the politics of Ivalice and Ashe's bizarre enunciation habits and the whole trying-to-help-a-princess-to-her-throne-against-all-odds quest as well.

But Ashe looked-- She didn't look angry or conniving or put-upon right now, as Penelo expected her too. She just looked _unhappy_. She looked white and pale and pinched and quiet and--

And that was a look Penelo knew all too well. She had already seen it in the faces of the orphans of Rabanastre after their parents had been lost. She had already seen it in the worn hands of the widows who had lost their friends and family and had to resort to scraps to keep their children safe. She had even seen it in her own mirror, after the last of her brothers had died.

Penelo knew that face, though she had never before seen it on a princess, and it was all that stopped her from closing her ears to further ideas and leaving here and now.

"Please," Ashe said, and Penelo could tell it was costing Ashe something to say that, to admit to a fault in a way she rarely ever did. "Please-- I know you are upset and even _why_... but please listen. I did not lie when I told you I would need to soon ask of you a great favor-- and it _is_ a favor, Penelo, to be freely granted, and not to be compelled at all. And even after you hear why I need to ask it of you, you may come to hate me even more than you do now. But at least hear me out right here. Listen to me first and judge afterwards."

This time, blood still roaring in her ears but already hands clasped around her knees for the tale, Penelo did just that.

* * *

I didn't (Ashe admitted at the first) tell you all of the truth about our situation. In fact, from the first, I must admit that I… I buried our very real need and our very real desperation under all of those sweet and honeyed words about duty and responsibility. But the truth is, Penelo, that none of those words were lies. They were incomplete pieces of the puzzle but pieces nonetheless.

The truth, the _full_ truth, is that Dalmasca is and has always been an enormously small and fragile empire, surrounded by giants who would gladly incorporate it into itself. In fact, you may have already witnessed that process happening over the last two years, with the Archadians encroaching and eventually taking over Dalmascan territory.

(That, Penelo thought wryly, was a bit of an understatement.)

But Dalmasca has always had its defenses and one of them has been its ability to establish strong ties and treaties with other nations. You already must know of my previous marriage to… to one from Nabradia, another land that pledged to stand with our country until that was no longer an option. And you may even know that my own mother was of Rozarrian blood and wed my father to consolidate trade treaties with them.

Unfortunately, the years have long since withered those ties. With my mother's death and with our unfortunate recent entanglement with Archadia, Rozarria seems to have abandoned us except when they can use us as pawns for their agenda. With-- Lord Rasler's death and the fall of Nabradia, we lost our ties to that kingdom as well. And given how weak Dalmasca is-- our military reduced to rubble, our treasury diverted to the nobles of Archades, our people long deprived of their livelihoods in all too many circumstances-- given all of that, we _need_ to make new ties. Even if it is to the very same people who drove us to these desperate straits in the first place.

Even if it is to Archadia and to House Solidor itself.

* * *

Ashe, who had long since found her way to the edge of Penelo's bed, looked away just then, as though she were honestly ashamed to have to admit to that last. But at the least, she had been honest about the odds that they faced-- honest enough that Penelo was actually starting to grasp the full scale of the incredible odds and crazy politics involved for all right now.

"So basically," Penelo began to slowly say, "you're saying that, because the Archadians screwed us over a while back, one of _us_ has to screw them back sometime soon?"

Turning to her, Ashe favored Penelo with almost a glimmer of a smile. "That's a memorable way to put it. And yes, it does appear as though the figurative has to soon become the literal."

At least she had calmed down a bit and was no longer droning or throwing on the sound effects willy nilly. But that didn't mean she had fully convinced Penelo about the reality of the situation either. "Not that this is probably going to be a big shock at this point but… I'm still confused. How the hell would offering to marry one of them to one of us help with anything? I mean, I know why _we_ need their cooperation, but why the heck would they want to help _us_? Why would they even want to give Dalmasca back its freedom?"

A slightly smug smile twisted Ashe's perfect lips "From what Larsa has been telling me, the Emperor has his reasons to consider doing so in the future. All is not quite as well in Archadia as portrayed and attempting to reign in Dalmasca _and_ so many other rebellious territories at once has apparently been taxing the imperial purse and military quite a bit. Add to that unrest from a serious of unpopular and apparently pointless military battles, worries about Rozarrian incursions in the north, the rising difficulty of trade due to pending war, the ever unstable support from Archadia's senators and… Well, there are more than enough reasons for the Emperor Gramis to justify him giving Dalmasca back its freedom eventually … awaiting, of course, the establishment of suitable ties to hold it all together and ensure good behavior from all paries in the future."

Penelo blinked. "I-- guess that make sense. But even if he agrees to all that and we need someone Archadian to get hitched to someone Dalmascan to wrap it all up… why would I marry _Larsa_, of all people? I know girls can get married around my age but Larsa is still… well…"

From what she could see, Larsa wasn't exactly prime marriage material as of right now. He was still someone who barely topped Penelo in height-- and she was not exactly a towering goliath herself either. He barely had an adam's apple, his voice was still as soft as a girl's, his face wouldn't see the business end of a razor for quite some time and his coiffure was the nice enough to be the envy of all of the women of their party, which didn't exactly serve to endear him to the female half of the gender. Penelo could more easily see herself getting hitched to _Fran_ and that was practically under aged lesbian interspecies zoophilia.

In response, Ashe cast her eyes upwards to heaven, which honestly offended Penelo quite a bit. It wasn't _her_ fault she hadn't exactly grown up thinking that getting hitched to boys that still sang soprano was normal, after all. "In this case, it matters less how old Larsa is than what his position in Archadia shall be in the future. He is one of only two sons that the Emperor of Archadia has left-- and despite all of their talk of 'democracy' and a 'representative government,' there likely always shall be a Solidor on the imperial throne as long as the line persists. And given that Larsa is the favored of both his father and the senate, there is a good chance that he may become the next Emperor of Archadia when he comes of age and his father passes on. I suppose we shall simply find a way of... disposing of his older brother before that occurs."

Penelo tried to swallow around the sudden lump in her throat and disregard Ashe's homicidal mutterings where Larsa's brother was concerned. She had more things to worry about... like _Larsa_, of all people, eventually becoming emperor. For all the talk of lords and ladies she had been around for the past few weeks, she would _never_ have thought that possible. "And… and just when's his father planning on passing on?"

Ashe shrugged indifferently. "I am told he is of uncertain health and likely has only a few years left to go. Not that I care about the exact timing of his death, honestly, as long as it happens after Dalmasca's freedom is ensured. Frankly speaking, I wouldn't spit on the Emperor Gramis if his idiotic winged crown was set on fire."

Penelo could appreciate that but she had larger concerns right now. "But… if his father dies soon and Larsa becomes Emperor and we're _married_, wouldn't that eventually make me…?"

"Quite possibly the first Dalmascan-born Empress of Archadia, yes. You could do inestimable amounts of good for our country in that position. Not to mention…" Ashe's smirk was indeed a terrifying force of nature across her otherwise flawless features. "You really ought to be grateful for your choice of groom -- it might not have been _Larsa_ you could have married for the sake of peace. Your bride groom could have been Vayne Solidor or, even better, the aged and ailing Emperor Gramis himself."

…Penelo had _no words_ once more, which provoked the first laugh from Ashe that Penelo had seen for the last few weeks of traveling together.

Well, at least _one_ of them was finding something to laugh about, though Ashe was probably just happy she didn't have to get married to a dying old man, an insane megalomaniac or (and this was the _best_ case scenario!) a boy who didn't even have the barest hint of peach fuzz on his fac--

"Wait," Penelo interrupted as a sudden thought struck her. "Wait, even if that's the case, why do _I_ have to get the arranged marriage? Why can't you just marry Larsa or Vayne or-- or whatever? I mean, _you're_ the princess and _you're_ the one who'll be queen and--"

And there was something very damn intimidating about Ashe when she stood at her full height and towered down at you. It ended up being damn difficult to cower in a horizontal position but Penelo did her best under her blankets anyhow.

"It is _because_ I shall eventually become The Queen of Dalmasca that I would never deign to marry one of the Royal House of Archadia. If I did-- and if the Strain of the Dynast King entered their Blood Lines-- the Solidor might become even more ambitious in their attempts to claim the Throne of Dalmasca. And even if the current generation did not, what is to say that my descendents scattered among the two nations would not eventually war with one another for the Dynast King's Legacy, having equal rights via their Bloodlines?"

Oh god, Ashe was starting to shift into full shrieking harpy mode. Penelo gulped and tried to head her off. "So why'd they take me instead? I mean, I don't have the blood of the Dynast King or anything like that in me. My mother ran a magical shop and my father was a trader. We were never, y'know, fancy or anything. We never really wanted to be anyhow."

This seemed to calm Ashe a little down, though her eyes were still fixed on Penelo. Until now, Penelo hadn't even _known_ hume eyes could consist of such large pupils. "The Solidor shall hopefully accept you because they themselves have no real claim to nobility either. Their family does not have the blood of ancient kings flowing in their veins because they themselves were originally nothing more than a merchant family that used their wealth and native cunning to ascend to nobility and then the throne of Archades a few centuries ago. They might _want_ to incorporate one of my line but they can do with one of yours as well, provided I grant you enough titles to make marrying you appear to not be a complete disgrace."

"Oh," Penelo muttered. "Well, um, that's good to know. And so easy on my ego. Now if you could please… please… _please_ maybe sit down and stop… staring at me so much? Seriously, Ashe, it's kinda creeping me out."

Ashe abruptly sat down again. "My… my apologies. And I did not mean that slur on your family name either. It's merely that this… this is a matter I feel quite strongly about."

"I could tell," Penelo said weakly. Ashe still looked vaguely as though she were in the mood for mass-murder and italicized speaking once more. Penelo consigned the souls of any unfortunate fiends that might cross her path soon to heaven itself.

But even despite the notoriously terrifying temper of Dalmasca's only living royal, Penelo still had a few more questions to ask. "So what am I expected to do now? What am I _supposed_ to do? Do I just get married to him right now and-- run off to have his flippy haired babies in Archadia--?"

Judging from the far calmer look on Ashe's face, she had some good news to tell Penelo at last. "No, of course not. No one would ask you to marry a boy his age normally. After the Emperor Gramis hopefully gives his blessings to the marriage of his heir as a token of his new faith in Dalmasca, you will be formally engaged. Any wedding that takes place will only occur _after_ our nation regains its sovereignty and the Emperor proves good to his word, which might take months or even years. And given how… untried Larsa is, it might be a while yet until the marriage can be, ah, _consummated_. Any children you hope to bear for him might have to wait a while."

And at that, a sudden note of curious horror struck Penelo . "How untri-- wait a second. Just how _old_ is Larsa anyway?" Judging from the suddenly cool look Ashe was leveling at a spot beyond her shoulder, that was yet another question Ashe didn't particularly want to answer.

'Please tell me he's at least at least a teeanger,' she mentally pleaded with her would-be queen. 'Please, please, please, please, _please_ tell me he's just taking his time with growing pains. Please oh please _oh please_ tell me he's someone I can actually get engaged to without feeling utterly evil and depraved.'

"He will be turning thirteen years of age in only a few short weeks," Ashe said with studied lightness, apparently suddenly captivated by her fingernails. "So really, it is merely a difference of three years between the two of you. It shan't be such an important matter in a few more years, given how mature he is for his age."

_Twelve_. Larsa was _twelve_. Never before had Penelo ever had to think about marrying anyone who hadn't even hit _puberty_ yet.

Oh god. _Twelve_. Even if peace didn't hit for a few months or years… she might end up marrying a thirteen or fourteen year old boy. Who was currently twelve now. And apparently had a monstrous crush oh her.

She was a _goner_.

The hand that Ashe clamped around Penelo's upper arm afterwards had all the strength and immobility of true Dalmascan steel. "It is difficult to accept all of this, I know. But you must think less of yourself than of all others if you truly are to Serve Your Nation. We need you to serve as our representative in Archadia, Penelo. We need you to agree to this engagement and marriage as a way of Building Another Tie For Us All."

And Penelo knew it was true, it was all true, that Ashe would never be the sort of person or ruler that would force unnecessary hardship on any subject of hers, no matter how many psychotic fits she could pack in before noon hit on any given day. But that didn't mean that something in Penelo didn't quake at the thought of sacrificing her dreams, of leaving everything she knew behind, to serve an infatuated prince she barely knew and a foreign empire she quaked to think of.

But in the face of everything Ashe was saying, that they were all fighting for… what was one small life worth?

But then, even if she was willing to go along with this crazy scheme, what about Larsa?

"I'll think about it," Penelo finally whispered quietly, mind pounding at the thought of all the decisions involved. "I mean… this isn't how I ever thought I'd end up living my life. But if you really need me to do this and there's no better way to get peace and you think… that I'm the only one who really could do this sort of thing…"

"You may just be," Ashe murmured. "There is no other Dalmascan woman that I trust as I trust you, as a comrade, a subject and as a _friend_. And there is no other who already has such… strong, albeit unwitting, ties to the empire. Penelo, we _need_ you to be brave for all of us, for all of Dalmasca and to spin your friendship with the lynchpin to our plans still further. I know you have it in you to do so-- all you need to do is try."

"I," Penelo started, and could feel the stupid lump that always came to her throat during moments like this start back up. Nobody had ever really said anything like that to her or given her a responsibility this vast, no matter who they were. "I-- thank you. I guess. Even despite the trying to marry me off without telling me about it part. Thank you for believing in me, despite it all. I mean… I know I'm not really the most inspiring person around and I know we probably will end up needing to do this when the time comes and I know can't promise for the future but Ashe-- I'll promise you this much. I'll try. I'll try and consider everything about this plan, I swear. I'll try to find the best way to do this all. I'll try not to let everyone down."

"Just ask yourself," Ashe said quietly, as she stood up to finally leave Penelo alone. "What is it that you would gladly sacrifice for Dalmasca, for your kin, for your home? What would you do to ensure that everyone who had suffered in all the war that came before us would have a better future from now on?"

And Penelo knew full well that her answer should be 'absolutely anything at all.'

She just didn't know if she was strong enough to live with the trials that would come afterwards.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Apologies ahead of time for tossing so many political details at you. However, even though the concept of this fic is inherently quite silly, I wanted to do Kiki proud by actually trying to pull it off in a quasi-realistic as-inspired-by-the-middle-ages manner. So my question to any readers out there is this. Do the reasons for this 'marriage' strike you as believable at all?

(And before you ask, no, there won't be any shouta in this fic. There'll be friendship and loyalty and slowly growing feelings of many sorts between Larsa and Penelo but no sexual experiences-- at least for Larsa!-- in this series. No matter how much he might occasionally long for otherwise.)

And just as an explanation to a canny reviewer named Lexie: No, Ashe does not at any point intend to make Vaan and Penelo royalty by her own self. She'd have to marry them to do that and that would not occur in this universe (unless Vaan somehow became _really_ impressive in the future.) Ashe intends to make them _nobility_ in return for their help-- which is a status that can be conferred to otherwise normal people who earned it through great service in Dalmascan society, at least as I'm writing it. Vossler, for example, was from a noble Dalmascan family and he didn't have blood from the Dynast King. You don't need to be of that very rare blood line to serve as a knight, courtier or lady-in-waiting for the Dalmascan Queen, which is what she intends for them to become before she marries Penelo off to Archadia to ensure that Larsa keeps his promises of peace in the future. Though what Vaan and Penelo have to say in return for that varies...


	3. Chapter 3

Still for She Who Bakes The Best Brownies of All Time, **Midnightdiddle**, if only because she's being increasingly instrumental to helping me figure out the general shape of this fic. All hail her evil genius! Also much love goes to **Aorin107**, **Cygna****hime **and **Threewalls**, who really helped me with the politics of this fic from the last few comments they left me.

Comments, corrections and criticism are, as always, completely welcome and loved. After all, a little encouragement never fails to add a bit of inspiration... which always makes the writing process go faster!

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 3**

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Characters/Pairings: Penelo, Ashe, Larsa, Larsa/Penelo (Somewhat)**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Ashe asks Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had i no /i idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

Penelo slept for quite a few hours in the aftermath of her last conversation with Ashe, mind whirling, body aching and common decency all but howling at the possible future Ashe had presented her with. But even there she found no real rest-- even there, her dreams were full of odd and twisted boundaries that she could not pass, strangled ties that kept her from leaving, and ugly, rusted lines that held her down whenever she tried. And though she could remember almost nothing when she woke up afterwards, the sensation of being pulled down and kept from the sky left her sweaty and trembling when she finally woke up again.

And when she did, the viera healer still tending her told her that the rest of Ashe's party had long since left her behind.

She had been ready to panic just then, ready to assume that Ashe had finally come to her senses and realized that she was completely unsuited for all of these grand plans and for marrying into _the noble House of Archadia for god's sake_ and just left her behind to not deal with the inevitable teen-girl temper tantrums.

(Though considering Ashe was only nineteen herself and had by far the fouler temper, who would have thrown them was questionable. Possibly they'd just end up having some sort of vicious catfight that the rest of the crowd could bring supportive banners for, or something.)

She had been ready to panic, to storm off, to go head to Mount Bur Damntheplace all by her lonesome self, just to demand to know what was going on _now_. Because as strange as it might have seemed, as awful as it was to be included in plans she had never wanted to be included in, it was even worse to be disregarded, thrown away_, left behind._

But right about the time she had started stuffing her bare feet back into her boots and cursing at Vaan for letting them do this to her, a viera interrupted her to let her know that the party had temporarily left for the Henne mines to retrieve Fran's sister (Fran had a sister?!), leaving her behind to recuperate.

"We would not," the viera healer told her quietly, "ordinarily have sheltered a hume within our borders. However, seeing as how your condition is still somewhat fragile and how your party has left to retrieve one of our own, we have decided to care for you for the time being. It would better for all of us if you could simply stay in the place you are in already."

Apparently, the viera weren't _completely_ heartless, rabbit-vixen qualities aside. Thanking her, Penelo stood up nonetheless, waving aside the inevitable spell of dizziness, though not the helping arm around her shoulders, when both came.

"You're probably right," she told the healer-- Raija-- quietly. "But right now, more than anything, I need a quiet, open place to think. Would you mind helping me find it? Please?"

And when the viera gravely nodded back at her, Penelo felt the tension building up in her chest ease for the first time in what felt like ages.

* * *

Eruyt Village, the village of the viera, turned out to be as lovely and forbidding as the creatures that populated it were themselves. And yet, for all of the frosty looks and sideways glances granted to Penelo as she and the still-kind healer made their slow way to an unpopulated sideways edge of the village, Penelo could easily see the allure of the place. Even the coldness of most of the inhabitants couldn't erase the quiet splendor of the expansive and beautiful streets, of the graceful and arching bridges, of the lush and vivid greenery and the delicate ironwork of the lattices scattered all over. This was indeed a place that was suited for quiet thought, though Penelo could understand why staying in it for too long could send its people out in the wider world in droves.

(And seeing how quite a few of them ended up apparently gallivanting around with sexy sky pirates in pants tight enough to let you see whether they hung naturally to the left or the right, Penelo didn't exactly blame them either.)

But right now, the peace and silence of Eruyt Village was just what she needed. And when Raija left after Penelo reassured her that she would be fine for the time being, she leaned back against one of the strong screens left around the village and sighed.

She had no idea what she was going to do now and no real idea how to go about deciding what to do either.

Penelo supposed part of it was just that she had never before thought she'd ever be caught in a wave of weirdness as wild as the one engulfing her right now. She had always hoped to get married in the future, that was true-- but she had always thought of it as the _distant_ future and her plans had never involved any prepubescent boys either, on account of her not being a complete creep and all.

Hell, even being part of nobility (and that was only marginally less believable than the creepy child bride groom Ashe was trying to pawn off on her now) had always been a future Penelo had never dreamt of. She had always figured that, well, if Vaan somehow managed to pull a miracle from his nethers and become a sky pirate, she'd probably end up his partner, name herself the Dread Pirate Sugar Thighs and get ready to spend much of her late teens and early twenties surgically extracting his arse out of trouble via an atlas whenever he inevitably blundered into it yet again. That was the way their friendship had worked so far and it seemed as good a way to spend her time as any.

And if not (and for most of their lives, it pretty much _was_ a not), she'd likely live in Rabanstre for most of her life, maybe traveling once in a while if she could. She'd have to keep working as a shop girl and dancer for quite a while but she'd hopefully eventually get the chance to earn a living doing something where her hips didn't have to lie all the time. She could eventually go into business, like her parents had, or maybe go back to school. She could train to be a healer and use her innate magical skills for the better, for doing something other than patching Vaan back up after he tried to attack the giant dinosaur in the Westersand with nothing more than a song in his heart, a blade in his hand and sand permanently lodged inside his skull.

It was something that would have done her parents proud, after all.

She had always planned to get married too, maybe in her twenties or thirties, to someone like her father or her brothers. Someone kind and sweet and funny, mature and responsible and level-headed-- and it'd be nice if he was sexy and rich and had a rear she could bounce solid gold bullions off of as well but she didn't even need that much.

Penelo had never thought she might eventually come to be pressured into marriage with possibly the most massively whip-lash-inducing little boy she had known for only a span of a week, for the sake of making an Emperor with the god-awful ugliest winged wangdoodle in all of Ivalice give back Dalmasca's freedom.

But then again, she'd never really thought of one day becoming part of a small band of fallen royalty, would-be king-killers, dashing sky pirates and plucky street orphans that needed to unravel the mysteries of a madman and restore a princess to her rightful throne before time ran out or said princess lost her mind and inevitably murdered them.

Maybe it was time to adjust her expectations about what her life would be like, once and for all.

But still, Ashe was asking a lot of her. If Penelo agreed to this crazy plan, she'd also have to agree to so many other changes. She'd have to learn to somehow become a noblewoman, after two years living in the slums of Rabanstre, occasionally (and literally) dancing for her supper. She'd have to somehow serve as a representative for Dalmasca in a place that had been to war with it for two years and likely had no lost love for it either. She'd have to relocate to another kingdom entirely, to a foreign empire that she knew enough only to be frightened by.

And strangest of all, she'd have to agree to marry Larsa… and she didn't know whether he was at all ready for these same changes either.

Larsa Ferrinas Solidor, fourth son of the Emperor and apparent heir to the Archadian Empire... He had lived the same sort of life Ashe had, the sort that made these sort of crazy arrangements make _sense_-- but that didn't mean he really wanted to go through with this himself. Hell, for all she knew, the poor kid might just be saying yes to these schemes to avoid letting the people who had pressured him into this idea down. She needed to talk to him to see-- to see if he was really willing to go through with this, and what he expected of her, and what kind of life they might have to live together.

Because, no matter what her would-be queen had to say, Penelo would _never_ force a _child_ to marry her for the sake of some flimsy version of peace that might never even hold thanks to his crazed and badly-coiffed older brother.

(And frankly speaking, Penelo already had her doubts about how quickly the issue of _that_ man was going to be finished up.)

Larsa was just so young and probably so impressionable and no matter how… in control he had seemed earlier, he likely had no more idea of what to expect from all of this than she did. He just seemed so… innocent wasn't quite the word, he was too _smart_ for that, but inexperienced would work and no doubt someone else had pushed him into making this mad decision to get engaged or whatever to her.

What sort of ordinary twelve year old boy ran around thinking about getting himself a wife, after all? What could he even hope to _do_ with her?

Admittedly, Penelo knew that Larsa was very, well, _different_ from most of the other children his age. Kytes and Filo in Lowtown, for example, had never gallivanted about the country, trying to restore peace on the strength of their own belief that the power of puffy sleeves might solve damn near everything. There was something pretty admirable, if not a little scary, about the way Larsa had of taking matters into his own hands, no matter how young those hands might be. But no matter how mature he was for his age, he wasn't ready to be _married_ any more than Penelo was ready to dress in drag and do the hula.

No, more than anything, she needed to talk to him directly, to find out what _he_ wanted to do, what he was capable of doing. And as she stood up slowly, ignoring her still-sore body to do that, she thought she had the first inklings of what to do to find out.

* * *

Ashe's party arrived back to Eruyt a few hours later with a young and rather dazed-looking viera in their party. Penelo stood aside quietly near the entrance to the village and watched as Fran and the leader of the viera-- another sister Jote, apparently, since no one in their party could possibly hope to function without a minimum of two family tragedies-- spoke quietly to Fran apparently having deserted "the green way" of their people, with only the occasional rude interruption provided by-- who else?-- Vaan.

It was only after all the party seemed ready to leave in a huff over the collective chilliness of the viera (though really, having had time with them, Penelo didn't think even the worst of their grumpy-amazon-rabbit-women bits were _that_ bad), that Penelo made her move. Striding out to the rest of her friends, Penelo smiled warmly at all of them as she made her entrance once more, determined not to show any hint of weakness. "Did anyone miss me?" she asked them with a smile as she shouldered her pack once more and readied herself for travel. "Because you had better. It was pretty rude to just go off on another quest without taking me along!"

Curiously enough, out of all of the group, it was Larsa who seemed most agitated at seeing her again. "Penelo!" he cried, and his voice higher than she had ever heard it before, which was really saying something considering puberty seemed to have barely made any in-roads into his voice box. "Penelo, it _is_ good to see you well and unharmed once more. But really, when we have the time, I must get the chance to talk to you about-- about a few subjects. But the manufactured nethicite that I gave you before, you must still have it. I need you to--"

"I know," she interrupted brightly, determined to have her say. "I know, we really should sit down and talk sometime. And considering how many plans there are up in the air at this point, I honestly think that now's a good a time as any." And then, turning to their leader, Penelo favored her with a slightly forced grin. "Anyway, Ashe, considering what we were, well, we were talking about earlier, I think Larsa has the right idea. Do you mind if he and I could just… take a little break from the adventuring for a bit? Spend a little bit of time with each other, just to figure something out?"

Somewhere, someone made a small noise at the back of their throat at the idea. Penelo didn't look around to see who, not when Ashe was regarding her calmly over the hilt of her blade, almost _daring_ her subject to back down. "You do realize that we need to make haste for Mount Bur-Omisace quite soon, yes? And that we shall need the both of you to be there for the events planned as well?"

Oh, so _that_ was the real name of the place. Penelo kept her gaze calm and her voice steady. Showing weakness in the wild was always fatal. "Yes, yes I do. But I _also_ know that getting us both there and making us do what you need us to might take a bit of time. And… I'd like to take that time talking to Larsa. See what he wants to do. What he's willing to do. Whether he understands what, well, what I all /I of these plans will mean for the both of us."

Ashe sighed softly but did not look too frustrated, thank the higher powers. "You don't believe he wants to see these… plans enacted as much as I do?"

It was surprisingly hard to keep her eyes from narrowing just then. "I think he wants peace, Ashe. That doesn't mean he's prepared to do what we might need to do to get it, no matter what he's saying right now."

Ashe's lips curled up in a tight smile. "And you wish to persuade-- or _dissuade_-- him from those preparations?"

_Damn_. Beyond the towering cliffs of crazy, Ashe's mind was as sharp as ever. Penelo shook her head quickly. "No, no, nothing like that. I just want to make sure he's ready for... what might come."

A certain gleam lit up Ashe's eyes. "His blood is… nearly as blue as my own. I have no real doubts that he shall know precisely what to do, just as I did."

If this came down to a catfight anytime soon, Penelo was going to make sure to rip quite a few hairs right out of Ashe's _skull_ before Ashe inevitably murdered her. "Look, I know you had five years on him when your… well, you know, when yours occurred. Going through that step at seventeen and going through it at twelve is completely different!"

Her would-be-liege inhaled slowly and deeply and rather terrifyingly. "And how would you know? You haven't even assessed how ready he is. He seems far more eager than you are to… conjugate at this point."

Terrifying enough, that seemed true. Penelo cursed the unseemly fates that saddled her with the most seemingly nuptial minded twelve year old in the world.

"That's just why," she finally muttered, "I asked to talk to him. To see if he really is. And if he is _and_ if he's still willing to go through with it, I'll even..." It was surprisingly hard to force these words out, knowing how they might bind her in the future, but what choice did Penelo really have? What else could she do when all of Dalmasca could be counting on her to go through with this crazy affair in the future?

Penelo stepped forward, dragging herself inch by inch until her mouth was bare centimeters from Ashe's ears, until her voice softened into a whisper only Fran's ears might be able to hear. "If he is and if you still need me to when we go to Mount Bur-Omisace... I'll even say yes. To everything you want me to."

There. That was it. Those were all her cards face up on the negotiating table. And she wasn't lying either-- if he was prepared, and if their respective nations needed her to, she'd do whatever Ashe needed her to. She'd become a noble woman under Ashe's service, she'd get engaged to Larsa as a way of demonstrating the good faith between their nations, she'd even marry him in a few years, whenever that good faith resulted into a free Dalmasca. She'd do it, even if it was nothing she had ever wanted, if Larsa was willing to go through it as well.

Hopefully, though… hopefully he'd turn her down, after realizing everything this meant. Maybe, just maybe, if she could actually get him to realize how much this would change his life, how hard getting married so young would be for the both of them…

Hopefully, maybe. But she needed to actually _talk_ to him first, _without_ any outside influences. And that was what she was hoping to do now.

"How long would you need?" Ashe asked her, voice cool and eyes considering, quietly interrupting her thoughts.

"A day," Penelo answered quickly, almost not believing Ashe might let her do this. "Just a day. Everyone else could spend their time resting or shopping or doing hunts or-- or anything, really. Just hold off on going to Mount Bur-Omisace until tomorrow evening and come and collect me and Larsa at the entrance of this village then. There's a teleportation crystal here and we've got plenty of stones already from clan hunts. It'll be easy to meet back here."

For a minute, all Penelo could do was hold her breath and hope Ashe took the bait after all. But after a long moment where she could practically feel the eyes of the rest of the party boring into her back, Ashe nodded slowly. "One day. And only one day. And I would much appreciate receiving a final answer from you on the morrow."

Penelo straightened at the challenge. "Don't worry, Ashe. A day is all I'll need. And I promise, I'll give you your answer soon." And then, turning to the very quiet and very thoughtful boy that stood to the back of her, she offered him as brilliant smile a smile as she could muster. "So how about it, Larsa? Do you mind spending a couple of hours with me in Rabanastre? I'm sure we can find a lot of fun things to do and, well, even more things to talk about."

And when Larsa slowly nodded, Penelo was grateful to see that at least this much was going to work out.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Aargh, transition chapters, argh. These ones are, by far, the most annoying things to write in a narrative with actual, multiple chapters. And this chapter was pretty much all transition and gathering things in for the relationships and alliances that still need to be formed. But still, I hope you can bear with me because next chapter, things will actually get interesting once more, what with Penelo's burning (and possibly futile) desire to shake some sense into her would-be-child-bride…

Also, I feel as though now would be an ideal time to let you know that Penelo pretty much fit's the definition of the classic unreliable narrator. There are so many things that she sees more as she wants to see them than as they really are. Snaps to anyone who managed to catch any pretty lies she might have told herself this time around. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

This might be my last chapter for this series but this is still for my toaster-denting pop-tart, **Midnightdiddle**, may she enjoy the tidbits of Borges I lob off to her occasionally. Also much love goes to **Cygnahime**, who helped me immensely with the pivotal scene of this chapter, and to everyone who encouraged me to keep on truckin' with this crazy concept. I hope I don't disappoint you in the end.

Comments, corrections and criticism are, as always, completely welcome and loved. This was the most difficult chapter to write so far-- which, of course, karmically means that this will be also be the chapter that people hate the most. But c'est la vie-- it's been a fun run of things and I do hope you've enjoyed what's been done.

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 4 **

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Characters/Pairings: Penelo, Larsa, Larsa/Penelo (Massively One/Sided), Cast**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had **_**no **_**idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

Sometimes, Penelo had to seriously wonder about just how much the rest of her party did-- or didn't-- know about the politics swirling around them. She knew Vaan, bangaa bless, had no more of a clue than the average venom-spewing, death-by-halitosis giving malboro, and that Basch, loyal and true as ever, wouldn't concern himself with anything that Ashe decided was not his business. And considering how stoic the latter could be, his even keeled disposition as he left honestly didn't show whether or not he had any idea of the 'arrangement' that might still be made between herself and Larsa.

But Balthier and Fran-- those two were always the primary enigmas on their team. Frankly, Penelo barely even _knew_ why the two were on this quest with everyone else in the first place. Fran was likely here because of Balthier but Balthier himself…

Well, Vaan had filled her in about some of the more suspicious things he had done to Larsa in the past, in the Lhusu mines just before she had been rescued. Cornering Larsa, threatening him, and knowing just who he was right after his name had been revealed… Balthier always knew a little more than Penelo was comfortable with and, judging from the keen-eyed look of interest he shot her right before he and Fran left with the other party for a bounty from Jahara village, he certainly had read _something_ more from her conversation with Ashe than she had meant him to.

That didn't mean she didn't want to faint just a little at the thought of his eyes on her, of course. Whatever else his faults might be (and, as Fran had wryly put it, they were considerable and often involved charges of grand larceny, illegal trespassing and public lewdness), he was nothing short of a _charmer_.

Life, she thought with a sigh, was pretty damn lopsided sometimes. Actual men like Balthier had a habit of passing her by easily while boys like Larsa were willing to stick to her like a chocobo to a field of cat-nipped gyshal greens. She wasn't sure what evil gods apparently made her irresistible to the under aged set but she'd be happy to stick a few sharp objects in them shortly.

But for now, it was boys like Larsa that she had to worry about. And as she gracefully accepted his offered elbow and walked towards the teleportation crystal to make their way back to Rabanastre, Penelo's back stiffened slightly at the thought of the very, very, _very_ uncomfortable conversations to come.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, both she and Larsa were camped out in the sad little crawl-space that passed for a living room in the space Penelo and Vaan lived in together, twiddling their respective fingers and looking at anything but each other as they waited for their companion to break the god awful silence between them now.

Or at least (Penelo snuck a quick peek at Larsa and then away), _she_ was twiddling her fingers. Larsa, rather, was looking quite intently at his surroundings and looking very, very dismayed, as though he had no idea that places like this could even _exist_. Truth be told, what with the world-saving quest and all, Penelo hadn't exactly had time to tidy it up in a while. But even then, she figured that all the exposed grating, skittering silverfish and threadbare furniture would have shocked him anyway, no matter how much they all-- vermin included-- sparkled after a good, lemon-scented rub-down.

Besides, maybe if Larsa saw that she was a lousy housekeeper, he might have second thoughts about marrying her after all. It was worth a shot.

Still, needless to say, no one was speaking right now and the afternoon was shaping to be the conversational equivalent of a game of chicken. And since they _needed_ to talk and since she was the adult here and since she was the one who had dragged Larsa all the way to the depths of Lowtown to do it, it was her responsibility to start the ball rolling… even if it ended up being an avalanche that might bury them all under.

Steeling herself, Penelo took a deep breath and--

"Forgive me," Larsa began, as if on cue. "Please, Penelo, first and foremost I must indeed beg your pardon for a multitude of errors, ones so grave that I do not believe I shall be able to rest until you forgive me for them all."

"Um," Penelo responded, not quite as eloquently. "Um, if you want me to do that, okay. I'd be happy to. But, Lar-- er, Lord Larsa, what exactly do you want to be forgiven _for_?"

That, at least, tugged a small smile out of Larsa, diverting him from his course momentarily. "Penelo, did I not previously request that you merely refer to me by my proper name?"

She smiled back, glad that she could make him do the same. "Hey, I remember that! Right after I whooped your butt at hopscotch for the first time in Bhujerba, right?"

For a minute, she froze, wondering if she was allowed to say either whoop _or_ butt in the presence a boy who could one day be Emperor over half of Ivalice. But from the soft, bright and, most of all, _startled_ laugh Larsa gave afterwards, it was probably all right. At the very least, _he_ didn't seem to mind it at all.

It was funny but, looking back, Penelo realized that she had never heard him laugh very much till now, even after spending a week with him in between her rescue at the Lhusu mines and her reunion with the others in the Dread-Nought Leviathan. He had laughed for the first time when said butt whooping had occurred and when she had playfully gotten him to let her try on his ruby ear studs as a "prize" afterwards. He had laughed another time, when she had managed to cajole him into a midnight raid on the kitchens in the estate of the Marquis of Ondore and they had _just_ managed to escape getting caught by ducking into an unused armory that had seen them eating their stolen meal as quietly as possible in between muffled giggles. And he had laughed when Vaan had made a typical fool of himself on the Ozmone plane by bragging about things he really _shouldn't _have bragged about, which seemed to be Vaan's natural state of existence most of the time anyhow.

But beyond that… Larsa was full of smiles of all sorts. Polite smiles, approving smiles, I'm-more-clever-than-you-and-you-better-recognize smiles… but Penelo honestly hadn't heard him laugh very much. Penelo decided, then and there, that she'd like to get him to do so more often. What with the crazy politics and impending emperor-hood, he could probably use a few more chuckles in his life.

"I remember," Larsa said warmly, smile still tugging at the corner of his lips, "though I do promise the same outcome shall not occur if we ever decide to play it again. Now that I've more experience in the pastime, I promise to be a stronger opponent."

_That_ made Penelo laugh herself. Apparently, Vaan wasn't the only one to make boasts he couldn't live up to. "Hah! You're on. Any time, any place, any where!" And though Larsa didn't laugh again, his resulting grin was nowhere near the thin-lipped, polite smiles he often gave others.

The next minute, though, his face dimmed and Penelo remembered what they had been talking about. "But… but right, Larsa, apologies. Forgiveness. Regret. All of that good stuff. I'm happy to give it all to you but… well, why do you need it anyway?"

With his eyes downcast and his lashes lowered over his cheeks, Larsa looked rather ridiculously penitent. Penelo bit back another smile. "Because I've been an utter fool and have placed you in grave danger because of it. Penelo, the blue stone I gave you on the deck of the Leviathan when we first parted-- do you still have it with you?"

Penelo found herself nodding cautiously, wondering how on earth _that_ could be dangerous. "Yeah, I do. Do you want it back for something?"

Larsa sighed sharply. "More for the sake of never having given it to you for the first place. I am not sure how much you know of what we saw in the Henne mines but, needless to say, it appears that the stone-- the manufacted nethicite-- I gave you as a present may be more danger than any of us realized. In the mines, Fran's sister-- you may have seen her, she was the young Viera Mjrn-- apparently was possessed in some manner by it. One can only guess at what other capabilities it might hold."

He cast his eyes down again. "Pray, forgive me for endangering you in such a manner. I merely wanted it to be a present to… to remind you of our time together, no matter how swiftly it passed us by. I had no idea it might prove to be such a grave danger."

Despite herself, Penelo found herself warming slightly at Larsa's thoughtfulness. For all the strange ideals he occasionally held, he really _was_ a perfect gentleman. "Of course I forgive you, Larsa! I mean, you couldn't have known what it could do, after all. And besides," she added, when his expression showed no signs of lightening, "No matter how bad it might be, it _did_ come in handy at least once. It kept us safe on the Leviathan when that god awful Judge Ghis tried to whack us with something big and sparkly and evil. Though looking back, I think it was the sparkly part that scared me the most. A man that wrinkly should _not_ have to resort to glitter."

And there was Larsa's startled laugh again, sweeter and brighter and more unexpected than ever. She really _did_ like being able to draw it out.

"No," Larsa said, shining eyes lifting slightly to meet hers again above his tilting lips. "No, he ought not. But Judge Ghis always did have a rather… eccentric sense of personal fashion."

"I know," Penelo said sourly. "I _did_ see his hair, after all." And then, before Larsa's bright expression dropped again, she went on. "So, well, that nethicite thing did that much, anyway. And," she had to admit, "it certainly _did_ remind me a lot of you. What with the, you know, possibly saving my life part and all."

At that, Penelo was amused to see a rush of color flood Larsa's full cheeks. "That _is_ good to know, Penelo. What with the, ah, comparison and all. But do you mind if I could perhaps take it back for safe keeping?"

She rummaged in her pockets, found it in her pack and handed the stone over without another word. Larsa's gloved hand brushed against her bare hand as he took it, his clothed fingertips lightly glancing against her callused knuckles for perhaps a second longer than necessary.

It was probably a little ridiculous to keep turning red around a boy four years younger than her, no matter how much he seemed to like reaching out for her. It really, _really_ was. Penelo sternly told her body to stop it already with the embarrassed physical reactions, for the love of all that was sparkly and evil in this world. It might give him _ideas_.

However, the heat around her cheeks told her that her still didn't seem to want to listen to her.

"So," she said, after another long, silent moment. "So I know why you wanted to be forgiven for that but, other than that, anything else? I mean, as long as I'm on a roll here…"

Judging from the suddenly grave look on Larsa's face, however, he didn't think this was much of a laughing matter. "No, please, please don't dismiss this next injury out of hand, Penelo. The nethicite might have been a mere accident of fate but speaking to you out of turn about our… impending engagement and marriage was a terrible mistake on my part."

If he continued to talk about stuff like this, Penelo might well end up dying from the vast quantities of blood rushing into her face all at once. But then, considering the fact that _she_ had been the one to drag them both here to discuss these matters, she couldn't exactly change the subject either, no matter _how_ embarrassed she was. "No, Larsa, please, _don't_ blame yourself. I mean, in fact, I should really be _thanking_ you ahead of time for telling me about it. Otherwise, Ashe would probably have just hustled us up to that damn mountain and gotten us both married off before we even knew what was going on!"

For a moment, she wondered if that had been the right thing to say after all. Larsa's face looked curiously… frozen for a second, before his mouth again moved to talk. "Right," Larsa finally said, slowly and carefully, hands fiddling with the nethicite he still held in between them. "Because you see such an occurrence as something… terrible for you?"

The hell with politeness-- now was the time to be honest more than anything else. "God, yes! For the both of us! I mean, how could they possibly ask the two of us to do something crazy like get married without even telling us much about it? Especially since I'm just a street rat and we haven't even known each other for more than a week and you're, well, you're still twelve years old! It's just ridiculous to put this much pressure on us without even letting us have a chance to decide for ourselves. Did your… your advisors or friends or whoever put you up to this crazy idea even _try_ to get you to understand what was going on before they asked you to get married to me?"

For a very long, strange moment, it almost looked as though Larsa were gathering himself up for… something. And then, slowly, as though testing out the words, Larsa quietly said: "Not… so much. Perhaps they didn't even think to do so. I… confess that all the variables of our situation haven't yet been evaluated as much as they could be."

Fuming on both of their behalves, Penelo crossed her hands in front of her chest. "Exactly. So you're just as much of a victim in this as I am."

Larsa's eyes were fixed somewhere in the direction of his hands, which were still gripping the nethicite in a stranglehold. "One could certainly see it in that way."

Despite her own sense of wounded pride, Penelo softened at that. She didn't want to hurt Larsa's feelings even though she knew she had to turn him down for his own good. "Don't worry," Penelo told him quietly. "I don't blame you at all. You're my friend and I know you meant to go along with this plan to please everyone around you. You're my friend and no matter what, I don't want to hurt you."

Then, just in case there was any doubt still left, Penelo leaned in towards him, gently coaxing one gloved hand away from the stone and into hers. It was, she noted with some surprise, larger than she had noticed before, his palm about the size of her own.

"It's not your fault, Larsa," she told him as sincerely as possibly, hazel eyes meeting downcast gray ones. "I mean, you're just a kid and I know you really meant the best for all of us. You couldn't possibly have known how much trouble this entire… marriage business would end up being. I don't think you did anything wrong at all."

"But," Larsa whispered, and his voice sounded curiously faint even so close to her, "Even if it does cause us some… trouble, that doesn't mean that my… advisors were wrong in all respects. If we were to marry, Penelo, with the blessings of my father and the Lady Ashe, this _would_ indeed solve so many problems for our respective nations."

Flustered, Penelo pulled back. He let her hand go without a struggle but his own splayed against the table like curling knots afterwards. "Trust me, Larsa, I know. Ashe gave me the whole spiel earlier, believe me. You don't have to repeat it, especially if you're doing it to convince yourself to go through it too."

That really should have been his cue to sigh and confess that he had been about as bamboozled as a fresh young Viera in front of a poker-table full of bangaa card sharps. But suddenly, with a look of resolution stronger than she had ever seen him before, Larsa placed the nethicite on the table and surged towards Penelo, this time taking _her_ hands in _his_ own. His grip was steadier than before, firm and careful and sure. "I'm not, Penelo, believe me. I know just what I'm being asked to do and I would do it gladly. And since you know why our marriage would be so important, why wouldn't you say yes? Or even consider doing so just for the sake of your homeland, despite your own personal… inhibitions?"

She had to turn away just then, had to get up from her mother's old rocking chair and untangle her hands from Larsa's and occupy herself with something, _anything_, else before his grave gray eyes could burn right through her. Maybe it was cowardice that was moving her away from him now. Maybe it was foolishness that was making her walk towards her kitchen without a single glance back. Maybe it was fear that was making her bow down her head so she couldn't see his face again.

Maybe it was a lot of things. But she didn't really care what, as long as it made him stop _looking_ at her as though _she_ was the one doing something wrong.

"Larsa," she asked absently, "do you maybe want a cup of tea or something? I think some caffeine might help me now. Might help the both of us. Just to keep off the edge." And then, moving with a dream-like sort of determination, Penelo found herself awkwardly sitting in front of her lower cabinets, looking for something-- _anything_-- that could take her mind off of what he just said.

"If you would like to offer me one, I would gladly take it," Larsa said, and he was suddenly right next to her, his gloved hands clenched at his sides. She hadn't even heard him move-- and he had moved _fast_. "But that doesn't render this an issue to be side-stepped entirely."

Head down so that she could rummage for her kettle without having to look at him in the face-- Penelo didn't know if she could do that without dying of shame for a very, very, _very_ long time-- she sighed. "It's not as though I don't know what's at stake, Larsa. I mean, just _look_ at the place around you. I didn't-- I didn't know if you know this but I didn't _always_ live like this. I had a family once. I had a home once. I think I know about what war does even better than you do."

Impossibly, Larsa seemed to draw nearer, one of his hands coming to rest on a chipped and faded cup in the counter of what passed for her kitchen. Penelo wasn't quite sure if she wanted to know just what he was thinking just then, of just what he thought of her. "I realize that, Penelo. That was one of the reasons… but anyway, it is inconsequential. I know that _you_ know what war can do to a family, a people, a kingdom."

And then he was kneeling again beside her, as he had done once in a sky-city she had been spirited off to, as he had done when he promised her his protection. His hand lightly lingered around her shoulders, not quite touching her but hovering anyway. "Why then the hesitation to stop it, Penelo? Why when you know what problems our marriage could solve?"

That was it, then. That was the heart of every single problem she had with this entire business, right from the very start. And there were so many ways to answer the question, so many ways to break this business entirely off, so many ways to tear apart Larsa's young heart. But instead, pulling her hands away from the tea things to turn her face fully to his, Penelo chose the gentlest way possible.

"Because you're my friend, Larsa. Someone that I really... like, despite all our differences. And no matter how much I want peace, I'm not going to sacrifice your childhood just to have one temporary cease-fire that might not even take."

When he next spoke, his eyes were darker than she had ever seen him before and his voice was low in a way that no child's ought to ever be. "And you believe that being married to you would be a _hardship_ for me? Or a solution that would not work after all?"

"Yeah," she said, and it took all she had to keep her voice quiet and tender. "Yeah, I do. You'd-- god, Larsa, you don't even know how much you'd have to give up if that happened to the both of us. You don't know how much you'd have to sacrifice if you were married so young, to someone you barely know, or whether it would even be worth it afterwards."

From the corner of her eye, she could see the hand that had almost touched her shoulder fall down again. "And what if this is a sacrifice I _want _to make? That I _have_ to make? Even if our marriage, as you say, might not solve all problems after all?"

And suddenly, more frustrated with him than she had ever remembered being before, she got back up again to look fully down at him. He looked smaller than ever from this angle. "Then it'd probably be up to me to shake some common sense into you! Larsa! You. Are. Twelve. Years. Old. You're not ready to get married. You're not even ready to go _steady_ with a girl. How could you be? You don't even have hormones yet! You probably think that marriage consists of naked games of hopscotch!"

Still kneeling, Larsa blinked up at her. "What, it doesn't?"

But before she could have an aneurysm at the thought, he was getting up and holding his palms out in the universal sign of surrender. "That was merely a jest, Penelo, by the way! I really don't think that at all. And…" And here he hesitated, ridiculously long lashes fluttering down to kiss still-rounded cheeks, and how did he expected her to take marrying him seriously if he was still so goddamn _cute_? "And even if you say yes, I don't expect to be married anytime soon, Penelo. All the treaties between our countries could take _years_ to resolve. But…"

And here he reached out for her again, finally touching his hand to her shoulder as though looking to have something to hold onto. His grip was strong, stronger than she had ever expected it to be.

"But even if we were to be married here and now, Penelo, I could never find being with you a burden. I think I would sooner perish of hypocrisy than entertain such a thought."

Clearly, on top of being impossibly cunning for a prepubescent, Larsa was also vying for the title of the slickest twelve year old of all time. Even knowing she was probably as red as the rotten remains of the Rogue Tomato, Penelo tried to respond. "Larsa that's, scarily enough, probably the sweetest thing any boy's ever said to me. But saying and _doing_ is something else entirely. Just because you _say_ you'd like being married to me doesn't mean that'll be the case. I mean, think about it. If we got married, we wouldn't just be friends, we'd… be married."

Larsa's lips twitched suspiciously. "I rather understood that part already, yes."

Penelo valiantly resisted the urge to go drown herself in the nearest body of sewage around these parts. "No, that's not what I meant. Or actually, that's exactly what I mean, I just need to put it into better words." Hesitating, she turned her entire body to the side, her friend's hand sliding off her shoulder as she did so.

"Larsa, if we were _married_, everything would change for us. _Everything_. You'd have to be a husband-- at only fifteen or fourteen or maybe even thirteen!-- and I'd have to be a _wife_. We'd have to live together, probably, and get along in front of everyone else and… and do things with each other we couldn't do with anybody else."

Her would-be-fiancé looked more confused than anything else at that and Penelo rushed on just so she wouldn't have to explain _that_ point any further. "We'd have to spend the rest of our life together if we got married and… what if we didn't want that after a while? What if… what if we found someone else we'd rather be with than each other? Larsa, I know we're friends-- _good_ friends-- but you can have a lot of friends. That's the nice thing about friendship. But you can only have one wife. It's not at all the same thing."

For a moment, Larsa's face went still in a way that… that she didn't like at all. But then, after taking a deep breath, he carried on. "I don't believe we would be quite as incompatible as you believe, Penelo. Don't many find friendship a strong enough basis for a healthy marriage, after all?"

Biting her lip, Penelo had to nod. "Well… yeah, I guess so. I mean, I've heard of people who married their friends and were happy. But still that, that doesn't mean _we'll_ be happy together. I mean, what if one of us fell in love with someone el--"

Cutting her off with a swift nod, Larsa then drew away to place his hands behind his back. "And I do realize that my present age might be of some concern to you. But Penelo--" And here his eyes narrowed at a spot over her shoulders, flickered towards her face and then went back to examining his boots-- "I shan't remain a child forever. Those of my House and of Archadian nobility as a whole… we don't tend to have very long childhoods."

With a queer sort of pang in her chest, Penelo realized that was probably all too true. If nothing else, that would probably explain why Larsa was being so damn _practical_ about something that should be so much more than just a matter of policy and politics. "I… I guess you're right about that too. But still--" And here her own voice gentled for his ears alone-- "That doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy yours while it lasts, Larsa. I don't to do anything to ever hurt you."

Eyes lowered again, he drew just a little closer. "Everyone has to learn to grow sometime, Penelo. And if anything, I fear doing such to _you_. Perhaps we shall simply have to remain vigilant around each other until we realize that we truly aren't violent lunatics after all."

Despite herself, she had to grin. They weren't Ashe and… well, really just Ashe, after all. "I'll give you that. But still, what if you ever fell in love with some other girl?"

Oh, she _really_ didn't trust Larsa when his smile got all bright and twisty in on itself. "Even that has loopholes, Penelo. After all, I wouldn't have to keep merely one wife if I decided to adjust to Rozarrian customs as Emperor. That's often proven to be the exception to near every rule of Dalmasca and Archadia, no?"

In spite of herself, Penelo laughed and slapped his shoulder. Of all the things to have come up with when it came to besieging her maiden virtue… "God, Larsa, don't even joke about that! If you acted like Rozarrian royalty, it'd all be over as soon as you picked out your first harem or second bride or whatever it is that they like to do to the west!"

Larsa's eyes brightened above the growing curve of his lips. "Oh really?"

Penelo just shoved her hands onto her hips and glared in a way that might turn lesser mortals to stone or concrete or possibly just aluminum siding. "Yeah really. Seriously, if you did something like that, I'd probably just kill you, hide your body in a septic tank and then tell everyone you ran off with some sexy lady sky pirate to take the heat off myself."

Laughing a little, Larsa widened his already enormous gray eyes at her. "That'd be shame, considering our progeny. What would we tell the children about my demise afterwards?"

Even despite the dull heat that threatened to take over at the thought of children (she really, really, _really_ hoped he was just joking about that-- _really_), Penelo continued. "Don't worry-- I'll make sure to have some excuse made up ahead of time. I tend to be both jealous _and_ careful-- and you might want to think about _that_ some before you start talking about any more marriage related deals."

Judging from the look on Larsa's face… he might be taking her more seriously than she really wanted him to. "I swear," Larsa said softly, "I will. That shall be something I will keep in mind for later."

And before she could think on _that_ further, Larsa was leaning in yet again, lightly grasping both of her hands in his surprisingly strong hands once again. "I know you have your misgivings, Penelo-- and I'll even concede that most are justifiable ones. But before our day together is over, please promise me you shall at least _consider_ this idea of our marriage still further. It shall cost you nothing to do so and even if the you feel ambivalent about the prospect of being married to me… events could change. _People_ could change. There's no guaranteeing any future."

Sooner or later, Penelo knew, Larsa was going to drive her to brink of insanity with these sudden turn-arounds. The worst part, though, was that he was making perfect sense in this mad, mad world they seemed to have stumbled on together. "I… guess that's true, Larsa. I still don't think it's a good idea for us to get married but… but I guess there's nothing wrong about _thinking_ about it a little more. Not," she added sternly when Larsa's cheeks started dimpling in that telltale way again, "that you should get your hopes too high up. I can't promise you anything but my friendship for the future, Larsa."

Her friend's face brightened further nonetheless, previously pale cheeks flooding with color again. "But you _shall_ at least consider the marriage question, yes? For… the sake of Dalmasca? And the empire?"

Penelo nodded at him hesitantly, prompting him to squeeze her hands still harder. "Yeah. For those two. And for you, if you want." And from the way he suddenly cleared his throat, dropped his hands and looked away, he probably did want. Penelo despaired for her future love life if Larsa was anywhere near as devious as she thought he was. "Not that I still think this is in any way a good idea!"

Larsa smiled at her beatifically. "Of course not."

Penelo frowned. "And you're still too young to get married."

He beamed even harder. "No doubt."

She could practically _feel_ a twitch forming on her forehead. "And you have no idea what you'd do even if I said yes and threw myself at you, of course."

His teeth just kept on _gleaming_ at her, my god. "Absolutely none whatsoever."

Penelo sort of felt like crying a little. "And you're not even up to anything that could change my mind about refusing you, right?"

Larsa's gasp afterwards very nearly sounded authentic. "Penelo, I am shocked, _shocked_ that you could think such things of me. I have never harbored a thought that wasn't for the greater good in all my life!"

With one last sigh, Penelo simply gave up. "I'm sure. And if you're done being shocked now, do you want to maybe go up to Rabanastre again and get something to eat? I feel like I could tuck into a werewolf right now and seeing as you're the closest edible thing here... well, you probably should start getting worried if I don't get something in my stomach to tide me over."

And from the slow and sweet smile spreading across Larsa's face afterwards, he wasn't at all opposed to that idea either.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Before anything else, I feel as though I ought to disclaim the fact that I don't _actually_ think children ought to get engaged/married/whatever at the tender age of 12, as Larsa seems determined to do. No, _really_, I don't. It's all for the purpose of flinging poor Penelo into an impossible situation just to see how she'll react, y'all. I won't ambush anyone with surprise shota if this fic continues, I swear.

In any case, sorry for the talky-talky-talkiness of this chapter, which was by far the hardest to write so far. But I really felt as though Penelo and Larsa needed to sit down and hash out the entire situation before they could gradually start moving closer and closer to a resolution. I was trying to keep the balance of this fic somewhere between being funny, being realistic and being sympathetic. (My radiant beta **Cygnahime**, who is full of love and wonder, certainly helped with this objective!) I'd love to hear whether or not any readers thought this was the case...

And the next chapter, if it gets written, shall have more humor and action! Can anyone else say… mambo? Last man, woman or would-be child bride groom still dancing wins! ;)


	5. Chapter 5

For **Midnightdiddle**, who I still love even if the postal service has abandoned us, and to all of those who reviewed the last chapter. You really fed into the writing of this one! It seems like practically everyone I know has been having a tough week so I really hope the sheer cheer (and crazy) this chapter has somehow helps.

As always, feedback and concrit is love. This is one of the most labor-intensive stories I've written so far and it really does help to hear that people are enjoying this in some way, no matter how brief or lengthy or wonderfully critical your comments might be. ;)

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 5**

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Characters/Pairings: Penelo, Larsa, Larsa/Penelo (Massively One/Sided), Cast**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had i no /i idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

Life being what is generally was, of course, it wasn't just as simple a matter of simply heading towards the streets of Rabanastre proper with a preteen prince on her arm. Before they could do _anything_ in the city above them, Penelo knew she'd have to change the way Larsa looked before they were ambushed by hordes of Archadian bucket heads on account of her having 'kidnapped' their would-be crown heir. As it was, she had had a hard enough time smuggling him into Lowtown in the first place and unless he wanted to go around clutching at his pendant as though he had a gaping chest wound or a flair for the dramatic, Larsa's appearance would definitely need a down grade.

"It's not," she told Larsa rather apologetically beforehand, "that there's really something _wrong_ with anything that you're wearing." (Though admittedly, she thought he'd probably benefit greatly if someone ever bothered to ever introduce him to the miracle that were actual _pants_.) "It's just that, well, your clothes kinda, um, _stand-out_ in Rabanastre. For one, you're wearing too many of them. And for another, they're all too nice."

Really, she thought as she surveyed Larsa from head-to-toe once more, how on earth could anyone _not_ have been suspicious of who he was from the get-go? Even disregarding his cultured accent and pampered appearance, his clothes were simply much too fine for him to be anything less than a noble. His tunic was formed from expensive silk, leather and lace staples, those fine boots of his certainly looked like they were made for walking, the collar on his back was formed of cloth-of-gold and he wore a goddamn _emblem_ formed of twisting, orihalcum snakes around his neck. Frankly, she thought even Balthier must have been a bit of an idiot for not realizing Larsa was a Solidor from the first.

In contrast, even the princess in their party had a tendency to run around in clothes that were less… fit for the upper class than for the gil-girls said upper class occasional paid to entertain them. (Hell, Penelo _still_ didn't know what was going on with that fugly black naval-warmer-thingy that Ashe wore that did nothing but overstate how very willing her child-bearing hips were to spit forth heirs for her country once more). And Penelo even reluctantly had to admit that the rest of the party that came from Dalmasca weren't exactly the most well dressed of their crew either. Uncle Basch apparently had a thing for stealing old Rozarrian Cinco de Mayo decorations and sticking them willy nilly onto his clothes and she and Vaan could, admittedly, likely do to embrace the general concept of outerwear more.

But hell, they all lived in the desert. This was what Dalmascans _wore_, damn it all. And if Larsa wanted to stay in Rabanastre with her for a week, he'd need to learn to dress down. _Waaay_ down. Though if the look on his face after she waved one of Vaan's old outfits in his face meant anything, she'd need to have to persuade him a little towards that end.

"Look at it this way," Penelo said as cheerily as possible. "Marriage is all _about_ making compromises and sacrifices for the sake of your wife! What better time to start than now?"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, when a vaguely shell-shocked Larsa emerged from her bedroom with his new outfit on, Penelo considered it a measure of her compassion that she didn't immediately break out into gales of laughter.

The thing with most Dalmascans was that-- well, sure, their kingdom might be tiny and had taken many turns being occupied by hostile foreign empires over the ages. And sure their people might have a habit of being dressed inappropriately and showing off their abs while mourning and going to battle wearing leather nursing bras that allowed them to get themselves stabbed in the most inconvenient places ever. But even if they had a habit of dressing badly, at least they had damn good bodies to dress badly _with_. Penelo wasn't sure if it was due to the roughness of the desert or the fact that if they weren't hardy they would have all died off already, but Dalmasca tended to have some damn fine looking people-- as far as pure physical stature went, anyhow.

But apparently the thing with most Archadians-- or at least, this one Archadian-- was that they didn't _have_ much muscle definition underneath the tons and tons of metallic or frilled clothes they had to wear. Heck, maybe that lack of muscle definition was _why_ they wore so many clothes. And so, when they had to put on clothes meant for people who really didn't need to wear too many clothes…

As a woe-begotten Larsa seemed to finally understand, such could yield tragic results.

Eyes fixed on a spot just beyond his shoulder, Penelo tried to make soothing sounds at him. "It's… it's not so bad, Larsa. I mean, true, Vaan's a little, well, taller and wider and just, um, taller than you are. But if we maybe tuck a few things in here and there, it won't look quite so…"

"Penelo," he said, and his voice was sadder than she'd ever heard from him before, "it shall be of no use. I look like an absolute fool in Vaan's clothes."

"Well," she replied, "to be fair, so does Vaan."

"But not," Larsa managed around a sigh, "due to his lack of musculature."

"Oh all right," she finally admitted after another look back at him showed that he looked as though a multi-colored accordion that had vaguely collapsed in on his skinny legs and arms. "How about I try and rummage for some older things for you to wear? I'm sure one of my brothers must have left something smaller from when we were ki--"

It struck her as perverse, is another minute, this idea of rummaging through her family's old possessions to find something suitable for a boy who's very family had helped kill them all. But Larsa was looking at her with his wide, curious eyes and an opening mouth and he looked ready to ask what was wrong and then he'd expect her to actually _reply_--

"Let me look," Penelo said around a forced smile and fled for her bedroom as swiftly as possible.

* * *

It was funny, Penelo thought quietly when she was finally by herself again, fingers already busy rummaging through a pile of what had been left of her family's possessions. There weren't very many things still left to her, of course-- after they had all died and she and Vaan had been left almost to themselves, she had had to sell many of the things that her parents and brothers had loved most just to put enough food into their mouths to survive the first few months of orphan-hood.

(Her mother's jewelry, her father's books, her brothers' swords and armors… all of it had been sold off to the Archadian carpetbagger merchants that had come around to Rabanastre just after it had first been occupied, looking to buy cheap and sell high and squeeze every bit of profit that they could from the people of their land.)

It was funny, she thought, just as her nail snagged onto an old shirt that she realized Larsa could finally wear. It was funny that she realized just now, _just now_, that Ashe wasn't just asking her to be the bride of a boy that might be the emperor of a foreign land when he grew older. Ashe was also asking her to be the daughter-in-law of the man who had authorized the take-over of her land and the sister-in-law the maniac who had apparently carried it out to the end.

Compared to all of that, the once-important issue of Larsa's age seemed to pale in comparison. And frankly speaking, if Penelo had been the utter kill-joy that Vaan had always accused her of being, she probably would have taken this revelation as the main reason to definitely and defiantly tell Ashe to go find another stooge to involve in her plans, damn whatever Ashe might have done to her with her wholloping sword later.

But the fact was, behind that sensibly braided hair and demure manners, Penelo had never been much of a rule-follower. She probably wouldn't have lived as long as had-- or been in the trouble she was now-- if she had done just as others always wanted her to do. And though Ashe might approve of what she was planning on doing now, Larsa's family would likely _hate_ it.

Which, as far as Penelo was concerned, was reason enough.

And when she finally made her way back to the nobleman patiently waiting for her in her living room, she was clutching both her youngest brother's clothes in her hands and a wicked, subversive and maybe even downright _crazy_ idea in her mind.

"How would you like to learn to be a real Dalmascan boy for a while, Larsa?" she asked him warmly. "I mean, for maybe a few days and not one, why don't we try and forget about the rest of the world and just focus on our, er, on _us_? See if we're good with each other after all? I can't promise you anything, Larsa but… if we can make it work for even a week, maybe we really would be ready to get... serious after all, like everyone else around us wants."

And from the intrigued look that swept Larsa's face in another minute, said idea apparently had legs as of now.

* * *

He gave her his own fine clothes for safe-keeping afterwards, though he seemed reluctant to the last to give away the silvery pendant that had always hung around his neck since she had met him. "Please do be careful with that, Penelo," he had said as he had handed it to her with a sigh. "It's been a heirloom in my family for four generations and I'd rather not part with it at any time."

If Penelo had her way, she likely would have chucked it into the sewers without another thought, leaving it for whatever fiend wanted it. She didn't particularly _hate_ the Archadians (at least, not the way Vaan and most of the other orphans in Rabanastre did), but something about the imagery of those two serpents crawling against one another…

But instead, she had nodded, smiled and promptly buried it under a pile of dirty clothes as soon as possible. And when Larsa was finally ready and looked enough like a gutter snipe of Lowtown to give most of his guardians simultaneous spew out a litter of kittens, she reached out to take his hand in hers for the first time ever.

The smile that he gave her afterwards was almost ridiculously brilliant.

"Shall we?" she said, smiling and willing to act the part of the lady for once.

"Yes. No, wait, I mean-- yeah! Let's go out and… make some… noise… together," Larsa finally managed around a smile that looked mighty twitchy and strained. Bless his prematurely aged soul, he really _was_ taking her earlier advice to try and tone down the high-falutin' language to heart. Though why he suddenly talking like a Bangaa mobster on Quaaludes was beyond her.

"Let's," she agreed, laughing, and led the increasingly bemused boy out to the world that seemed to stretch increasingly open for them, each step at a time.

* * *

It was likely, Penelo thought later on, that when Larsa told her to go and make some noise, he hadn't meant her to take the instructions to heart.

Truth was, it hadn't exactly been what she had meant to do either. She had just… well, she had just thought that for the next few days, she could take Larsa around Rabanastre and maybe a few other places in Dalmasca, to show him what the Archadian occupation was _really_ doing to the people around her. She knew he had the best of intentions when it came to peace but considering how naïve he could be about what his empire was doing… Well, a little bit more reinforcement couldn't do him any harm, she figured.

They could explore Lowtown even more and see the people who had been hit worst after the occupation had gone about. They could go to Muthru Bazaar and see the Archadian soldiers bully the merchants there into giving 'special' discounts. They could head over to the Sandsea and maybe see the usual round of bucket-head jackasses harass the bartender and waitresses into giving them enough freebies to get drunk, as though their personalities weren't charming enough on their own. Really, there was no limit to where irritating northerners could be found in the kingdom right now.

As far as schemes went, hers weren't exactly on part with Ashe's devious, multi-part get-back-my-country-by-pimping-a-would-be-lady one. But she had just thought that maybe if Larsa saw how much in need Dalmasca was from deliverance, he'd be just that much more motivated to fight for peace with his aging father and crazy, psychopathic brother. Hell, Penelo had to admit that she wasn't even quite sure what motivated Larsa-- beyond empathy for his brother's badly abused hair products-- to fight for peace even now. And maybe if he was that motivated, he'd keep fighting for Dalmascan freedom even if she said no to the idea of marrying him.

(He probably hadn't meant to give her this impression through their talk but Penelo was more convinced than ever that this whole 'marriage' business wasn't something he understood-- it was just what others had conned him into being eager about 'For The Sake of Our Mutual Motherlands' and blah blah blah, whatever. And she'd be damned if she was going to trap a little boy into a lifetime commitment he had no real understanding of either.)

Somehow, managing to get the both of them swept up in a raucous street carnival hadn't exactly been in her guilt-the-future-emperor-of-Archadian-into-giving-in-to-Dalmascan-freedom campaign. But as Larsa, face flushed with laughter as he drew his arms around her elbows for another street dance, smiled at her, she thought that it wasn't the worst possible thing that could have happened either.

He looked happy, at least, and it was nice to see him with his cheeks pink in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with creepy future plans her Queen had in store for her. And when he peered up at her through long, dark lashes as another string of miniature fireworks lit up the arch of the Muthru Bazaars, she had to fight down her own smile.

A boy that young should _not_ be that smooth. Honestly, Penelo despaired at the relative blandness of her own charm when he was around.

"And what shall _this_ dance be called?" Larsa asked playfully as the moogle band in attendance struck up another tune. They'd already danced for half-an-hour and Penelo had to admit that she was impressed by how quickly he had managed to pick up steps he had no way of knowing earlier. Whatever else his other flaws, Larsa knew how to shake what his momma had given him after all.

Flicking a look at the surging crowds around them-- how in the world could she have forgotten that the original day of Dalmascan independence was today? And damn whatever the Archadians said, the celebration of _that_ wasn't about to be squashed just yet-- Penelo smiled as she recognized it. "It's called the mambo," she teased back. "And Solidor, you better be prepared to shake your hips like they've never got themselves shaken up before."

Larsa frowned as though he were still uncertain of the grammar in her last sentence but then the beat started again and she grabbed his wrists in her hands-- a reversal of the usual order-- and pulled him to her to show him just what to do with everything under the equator.

Dancing had always been easy for Penelo, ever since she had been a little girl futzing around with her mother's instructions ringing in her ears, dreaming of a life of glitz and glamour on a stage somewhere where people could properly adore her. All it ever really took for her was to close her eyes and listen to the music and let her body flow in a precise balance in between what she was expected to do and what she _wanted_ to do.

If ever she had a philosophy in life, that would about sum it up.

Luckily, Larsa seemed to be just as much a natural as she had ever been, if even more willful. And after a few long minutes of staring at her hips shimmying and her legs rocking back and forth from one position to another, he followed precisely with one hand lightly tapping her waist while another reached out for her fingers.

She cocked one eyebrow up at him at that. "An innovation from Archadia," he explained brightly, and then followed her body as she bobbed up and down at the quickening music.

Well if that's the way he wanted to play it… with a laugh, Penelo shimmied and then turned away from him completely, offering him a bright smile over her shoulder afterwards. "So you think you can keep up with whatever moves I bring up now, is that what you're saying?"

For a boy that hadn't even hit his growth spurt yet, Larsa certainly had mastered the art of looking down his nose at others. "I believe I might even be able to do you one better, Penelo!"

Her smile widened. A dance-off it was. "Wanna bet on it?"

Larsa's eyebrows were even more impressive when _both_ were raised at the same time. "I wouldn't mind but what shall we wager?"

Penelo made a show of consideration even as her shoulders twisted to the music still playing around them. "Talk later. Dance now. Sound fair, Larsa?"

Larsa's bright grin was hidden behind a curtain of dark hair as he raised his hand to his chest and inclined his head in a bow. "Eminently so."

With a laugh, Penelo tossed her hair back and made her way deeper into the center of the crowd. "Let's let them decide the winner then!" And with another laugh, Larsa followed her.

* * *

The trick to dancing, Penelo had long since learned, was not to think about it to much, to let the natural rhythms of the body take over. If you paused at every other minute to think about where your legs should go and the exact way to hold out your arms and what direction you ought to turn… well, that'd just make dancing less of a pleasure and more of a hassle and even if it _was_ the way she made spare gil when a shop girl's salary didn't cut it, even if she _had_ been named the best sales associate in the tri-Dalmascan area for three years in the running.

So Penelo, at least at the beginning of this, had thought she had already had the contest _aaall_ wrapped up and had been gleefully anticipating what she'd be able to cadge out of Larsa later-- a functional airship? Lifetime passes to the dress-shops in Archadia? Or maybe just anything that would help her more easily set the heads of the fugly evil she had been encountering as of late on fire?-- when she realized that this wasn't going to be an easy win after all.

In her own way, Penelo guessed that she had become spoiled as of late. Maybe it was because she was cute or tiny or blonde or had the tragic 'orphan' mystique past going on, but she was usually used to having the crowds around her support her against most of the opponents she danced against for pleasure and profit at the Muthru Bazaar. Unfortunately, she had failed to take into account that _this_ opponent, at least, had the power of all his preteen charm and puffy sleeves at his beck and call, even when he was wearing normal clothes for once. And though she did her best to shimmy and shake, to twirl and glide, and to seduce the crowd around them with her smiles, she had a feeling she might be losing this one.

Larsa, to put it simply, merely had to bat his cute little eyelashes and shake his skinny hips and he had the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. He and all of his godforsaken relatives apparently had some sort of genetic plus at this crowd-control thing, Penelo had to give them that much. And when the moogle band finally finished playing three songs in a row and both she and Larsa faced the crowd for their final bows, he got one of the biggest rounds of applause she had ever heard a dancer receive in her _life_.

If steam hadn't been shooting out of Penelo's ears because of Larsa previously, this might finally be serving as the straw that broke the camel' psyche.

"But, but, but--" she wailed in the face of a cold and uncaring world. "But I do this for a _living_! And you've all known me for years! How could you all _do_ this to me just for some-- some-- some little flippy-haired, knock-kneed, wide-eyed _strumpet_ you've never even met until now?!"

"Well," someone in the crowd sheepishly said, "you're cute and all, Penelo, but your little friend's even cuter. Look at her adorable green booties! We pretty much _have_ to give it to her for that much."

Larsa smiled bashfully and shook his shiny little bob of hair at the compliment, prompting another round of coos from the crowd. Penelo valiantly resisted the urge to rise up and _kill them all_ and instead grabbed Larsa by the scruff of his neck and ran before the spirit of Ashe's psychopathology could take over.

"Fine," she said to Larsa after they had managed to make their way from the festival that was winding down, the Archadians having finally cottoned on to disrupt. "You won, fair and square, though I don't think I'll ever forgive the evil in that crowd. But still, you _did_ win that dance-off. So what do you want me to give you anyway, since we had a bet?"

Eyes lowered in thought, Larsa made a sound of soft consideration. "I might have to think about that one, Penelo. After all--" And here the look he shot at her out of the corner of his eyes made her own eyes widen-- "--it's difficult to predict the future and what shall need to be done."

Despite her nervousness-- god only knew what was shooting through that mind of his now-- Penelo managed a rueful smile. "Well, I guess that's what I deserve for getting so cocky about my skills-- and for underestimating you too, I bet."

Larsa grinned back. "Far older people have made that same mistake, Penelo. Believe me when I say you shan't be the first or the last. Though you _might_ be the only one who has ever called me a 'flippy-haired, knock-kneed, wide-eyed strumpet' before."

"Um," she said wittily. "Well, what _else_ could I say? I still can't believe you managed to win that crowd over, that crazy bunch of ingrates, watch if I marry myself off for them now…"

At this point, Larsa was reduced to biting his lip to keep from laughing at her, which raised him in her eyes quite a bit. Sighing, Penelo decided to move on from her humiliating defeat the hands of Ivalice's most precocious preteen prince. "So what do you want to do for the rest of the night anyway? It's almost the witching hour and most of the shops are already closed…"

She could practically see him fighting off a yawn, even as his hand involuntarily curled up against his mouth. "Does retiring till the morrow at all interest you, Penelo?"

She supposed her own yawn was answer enough. Nodding sleepily, Larsa placed his hand inside the crook of her arm to allow her to lead him back to her little corner of the world down below. And this time, she squeezed back gently and started walking, him at her side as though nothing in the world could hope to dislodge him afterwards.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Well, I had to give these two crazy kids a i bit /i of happiness before the fhit hit the san, yeah?

And in any case, if anyone was wondering just why Larsa was so... sanguine about uniting Archadia and Dalmasca through uniting himself with Penelo, I hope this chapter cleared up the mystery a bit. Penelo's a fetching enough lass (though I'm sure the grand courts of Ivalice have prettier women) but her main attraction is her exuberance, not her appearence. I really hope that shone through, since Penelo's third-person-limited viewpoint can be so. Aggravatingly. Limited. So what I'd like to ask, if you don't mind me doing so, is how well you think Penelo's being characterized. Does her personality come through despite it all?

Also, happily, I just received my first flame on Fanfiction-dot-net for chapter 4! It was pretty hilarious to see said flamer start ranting on me about how unbelievable it was to see Penelo being turned into nobility (**not royalty**) by Ashe before they even hit the parts of chapter 2 that, uh, explained why that was occuring. But still... I got capslock and a giant FAIL. It was like having a really nit-picky Harry Potter, driven to the arms of Final Fantasy after being embittered by his own fandom, review me. What more could a girl want, right? ;)


	6. Chapter 6

For **Midnightdiddle**, who gives me pictures of half-naked rugby players to cheer me enough whenever I feel down. Darling, you are _the best._ Even nude Italian wonder-boys pale beside your charms! And for **Kilraaj **and all the others who gave me such lovely and critical comments last chapter. It _really_ helped with the writing of this.

As always, feedback and concrit is much loved. This is one of the most labor-intensive stories I've written so far and it really does help to hear that people are enjoying this in some way, no matter how brief or lengthy or wonderfully critical your comments might be. ;)

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 6**

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Characters/Pairings: Penelo, Larsa, Larsa/Penelo (Massively One/Sided), Cast**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had no idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

Penelo woke up the next morning with the distinct feeling of having congealed cotton rotting away at the back of her mouth.

For a minute, all she could do was stare mistily at the ceiling above her, mind empty of anything but a vast white space where thoughts of last night out to have been. It was only when she stirred, propped herself up on her elbows and groaned at the sight nearby that she remembered just what had happened to get her to the sorry state she was in now.

Disgusting after-taste on tongue due to eating too many undercooked street kebabs last night? Check.

Head-ache from sneaking in too many sips of black-market Bhujerban madhu whenever she could get them in without being caught by her guest? Check.

And creepy, would-be, under-aged child bride groom who apparently could dance better _and_ looked cuter than her sprawled out near her bed on Vaan's old futon? Check, check, check, and _then_ check.

Half in and half out of the sagging mattress she had had to offer him on the night before, with his still booted feet almost reaching across his bed towards hers (apparently, he tended to sleep oddly… horizontally, of all things) and his cheeks still flushed from the night before, Larsa looked almost ridiculously harmless. And anyone who didn't know him as well as she was starting to might have been fooled.

"I'm not, you know," Penelo muttered rebelliously in his general direction. "I don't care how innocent you look right now-- I know you're up to something. Something evil and plotty in your evil and plotty little mind. Trying to figure out how to out-dance me some more, I suppose."

Predictably, Penelo got no answer whatsoever.

Grumbling, she got up and decided that, damn it all, it was time to go and scrounge up some breakfast. Her mother always had told her it was the one indispensable part of her day and she'd be damned if she'd let even quite possibly the most cheerfully maddening house guest the world had ever known disrupt that.

Besides, she'd probably need the energy to fend off whatever his next plan of attack might be. God only knew how he might decide to do next to get her to go along with his-- or his _empire's_-- plans afterwards.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Penelo had jotted a quick note down to Larsa (the gist of it went something like: Am going out. You stay put. Try not to get too frightened by the squalor) and was drearily trudging down the streets of the Muthru Bazaar while glaring at the sunshine for getting in the way of her mild hang-over.

For at least the first few moments of her visit there, she even had the hope of quietly finishing her errand, going back home and having herself a decent start to her day. But of course, her life being what it was, the worst possible outcome to even the simplest tasks tended to happen on a regular basis. And it was only when she had finished selling off the last of her loot off to the market-place to get a hold of ingredients to massage, bake and batter into breakfast for both herself and her eerie house guest of marital madness that the trouble _really_ started to begin.

To begin with, the Archadian soldiers stationed in Rabanastre tended to be, on the whole, monumental jackasses. They knew it, the Dalmascans knew it, and the two groups tended to live in an uneasy balance between those two opinions. Oh sure, there were exceptions, like that Sherral that kept hanging around the weapons shop, paid for hunts for Dalmasca out of his own pocket and always the dancing girls flowery compliments when he saw them at the bazaar.

(Either there was something about the water in Archadia that made perky blondes irresistible or maybe she gave off specific northerners-only pheromones. Penelo had no way of understanding exactly _why_ Archadians seemed to like her so much, especially when so many actual _Dalmascans_ seemed blind to her charms.)

But most of the Archadians in Rabanastre were, to put it plainly, _shmucks_. Penelo thought it was less that they were bad to the bone and more that they could usually get away with loutish behavior in a conquered territory, but that didn't make them any easier to live with. They usually left crap tips for the dancing girls, cadged free loot from the merchants, bossed around waiters and waitresses and droned _on_ and _on_ and _on_ about the wonders and the beauty and the wisdom and blah blah blah of Archadia and how filthy desert and skimpy outfits and terrible weather and blah blah blah of Dalmasca could never compare if you let them.

Compared to hearing their long-winded paeans to the motherland, life under their thumb didn't seem so terrible after all. Perhaps that was why they did it. Archadians did seem rather cunning, after all.

Unfortunately, there were also some monumental morons who went above and beyond the call of duty in pissing off the people of Dalmasca. And right now, from the way one of the soldiers stationed at the Bazaar was eyeing Penelo, one was trying to hit on her right now.

"So," the would-be-lothario began in a voice he might have fancied was smooth, "what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

About to snap under the strain, Penelo forced herself not to answer. Doing my best not to drug my house guest to obliviousness, she didn't say. "Buying breakfast," she concluded blandly, hoping he'd sense her complete and utter lack of interest and back off before she had to teach him how to treat a lady by tenderly and repeatedly introducing her fists to his face.

Of course, that was probably too much to hope for. And Penelo could practically _sense_ the eyebrows crawling over the bucket head's forehead as he leaned over, tried for charm and inadvertently stumbled into smarm. "Trying to prepare something for a special someone?"

She could almost _feel_ her own eyebrows twitching at the innuendo as she involuntarily thought of her temporary house guest in all his shining, radiant, twelve year old glory. Oh, _there_ was a picture to haunt her dreams. "Not so much," she managed shakily at last.

Eeeurgh, she could almost _see_ his teeth gleaming at her through the slight gaps in his iron helm. What _was_ it about Archadians? Was there some sort of orthodontics-based crisis up north that had sent the empire sprawling all over Ivalice, conquering everyone right and left so they'd have a captive audience to coo over their grill? "Then maybe you could take me back home with you so you can go _make_ me some?"

For a long moment, Penelo could feel her lips move involuntarily in disgust, silently mouthing some of the fouler curses her brothers had carried from the army. Apparently deciding that was permission enough, the soldier reached out towards her, fingers flexing in classic pinching position-- only to be intercepted by her own fist.

"I think," Penelo finally said thoughtfully, "I'd rather go stick my delicate lady parts into a blender and press puree, thank you very much." And from the clanging sound of flesh meeting metal, said bucket-head's jaw had probably jarred right into his, well, bucket right now.

If they hadn't been interrupted just then, either one of two things would have happened. Either Penelo would have simply beaten the jackass to a pulp, stowed his body away in a back-alley and never heard a peep from him again (she rather doubted he'd go running back to his squad commander with the story of having gotten his butt kicked by a teenaged girl who still wore her hair in pigtails-- which was one of the main reasons she still wore her hair that way) or he would have hollered for back-up and promptly gotten his ass reamed by his captain for harassing the peasantry after getting express orders to leave them alone from 'Lord' Vayne himself. (The man and the unholy alliance of hair products that rested on his head still scared her plenty but she had to admit that he had made being in Rabanastre over the last couple of months a _little_ less aggravating than it used to be.)

In any case, Penelo was _more_ than up for a healthy outlet to take out her many and mounting and strangely marital-related frustrations on… when, all of a sudden, the soldier stupid enough to try and pick her up was hit upside the head with a rather stunningly large rock and she was suddenly being dragged up, over and away from the streets of the Bazaar, by a persistent black-and-green colored blur.

"Wha--" Penelo began, her mind almost frozen in shock at the sudden twist. "What's-- what are you-- how--?"

"Never mind," Larsa-- and it _was_ Larsa, who else could it be _but_ Larsa? Who else could be that surreally and sublimely sneaky?-- hissed, tugging at her. "We have to flee the premises, Penelo-- right _now_! Before he calls for reinforcements!"

If she had been any less startled, Penelo would have told him that, well, that wouldn't at all have been a bad thing. But she _was_ and he was-- was far stronger than he looked like at first sight-- and in any case, he was too much to resist as he pulled her along, sweeping her life right from under her, right beneath her feet.

* * *

Ten minutes and one collapse next to the miniature waterfalls in Lowtown later, Penelo was coming to realize that Larsa was not only the most cunning twelve year old she'd ever met before-- he was also probably the biggest worry-wart she'd ever encountered in all of her sixteen years of existence.

Right now, for instance, he was fluttering over her with a persistence that would have made Migelo in his most giant-lizard-tending-to-his-clutch-of-hatchlings mood seem cold and indifferent. "That fiend didn't hurt you, did he, Penelo? Oh, I had no idea such _depravities_ could even exist within the imperial army. The nerve of the brute! If only I had the chance to report him to his commanding officer or, better still, to Drace!"

Blinking, Penelo sat back and let Larsa feel for her temperature at her forehead and her cheeks and the side of her neck, apparently concerned that the trauma of the experience might have somehow lead to a fever out of nowhere that apparently had to be checked very, very thoroughly. Though she had wanted to show him just how awful the Archadians in Rabanastre could be, she didn't want him to turn into a hypochondriac maiden aunt that spent the rest of his life fussing over her health and trying to marry her off (to himself, _dear God_) either.

"Er… well, Larsa, it's not like he actually, y'know, did anything. Even though he was kind of trying to… Well, I mean. The jerk actually did think that if he chatted me up, I'd probably take him home with me but... well... I mean, obviously I wouldn't have let him so..."

Out of all the things she thought she'd have to talk about to him, sleazy come-ons by the soldiers of his empires had _not_ been one of them. "Penelo," Larsa said anxiously, "_are_ you all right? You're getting flushed out of nowhere. My god, what if he somehow _infected_ you with something?!"

This only made Penelo flush harder and Larsa's hands roam against her face more quickly. "I'm, um, really sure that hasn't happened, Larsa. I didn't even let the jerk touch me. Though, ugh, if anyone could become diseased just by getting eyeballed…"

Pushy hands suddenly planted on his hips, Larsa looked every inch the picture of royal and righteous indignation, even though all those inches still barely topped five feet in height and only came up to her rapidly wrinkling forehead. "But even if you are perfectly well, Penelo, I cannot let something of this magnitude go unpunished. To think that someone tried to do something of this nature on _my_…"

He trailed off as Penelo suddenly shot him a look of warning and his confident voice suddenly turned quite small. "Friend. My dear, dear friend. With whom I share a deep and sincere friendship with and not much else entirely."

Slowly but surely, he was learning, and Penelo smiled sweetly at him as a reward. "Pretty much. You're still, well…" She probably shouldn't be feeling at fault at all but the _look_ he was flashing at her from under his eyelashes was rather ridiculously guilt-inducing. "Larsa, I like you and all but you're still twelve. That's kinda too _young_ to be anything else. Really, really, _really_ much too young."

He folded his arms in front of him and looked rebellious at the very thought. "But still old enough to save you from lechers older than I, no doubt."

Judge Ghastly and his sparkly spoons of doom flashed through Penelo's mind and she shuddered. "I'll definitely give you that much." And then, feeling guilty despite everything she'd ever learned about common decency, Penelo sighed, and got up from her seat. "But I really _do_ owe you-- you saved me twice in as many months. That's pretty much got to be some sort of record, right?"

Larsa still looked distinctly sulky, with even his hair flaring out to look like a really affronted baby cockatrice wandering the Giza plains. Penelo's Solidor Follicular Senses tingled at the very sight. "It very well might be. I shall have to consult the stacks in the Archadian library to see."

A little amused, Penelo decided to try something she had always seen her mother do when she wanted to coax her father into something. Smirking inwardly, Penelo bought one of her pigtails forward and delicately twirled a piece of her hair between her fingers as her eyelashes fluttered nearly close. Then, flashing a small, shy smile at the ground, at him and then back down again, she spoke in the sweetest voice she could summon. "Oh Larsa. Please don't be upset at me. I expect it's just the, um, shock of that _brute_ trying to take awful, _awful_ advantage of me. You are _so_ my knight in shining, ah, tights and things and you deserve the largest reward I can give you, surely."

If the suddenly still look on Larsa's face and the slow way he was lowering his arms meant anything, her feminine wiles, while limited in scope, still worked quite well on preteens. She'd despair if it wasn't proving so effective here.

"So," she said cheerfully after a bit, "how about I buy you a nice, big breakfast and we call it even? We won't have to worry about silly things like debts or anything after that, will we?"

And then he straightened up again and Penelo suddenly realized that though Larsa was still young and even smaller than she was, she was still dealing with the crown prince of Archadia, no matter how ragged his current clothes might be.

"Breakfast," Larsa said smoothly, "sounds as though it would be a wonderful reward. You did, however, also promise me you would at least consider the idea of going beyond mere friendship if we spent a few days together and got along splendidly. I rather think that rescuing you yet again entitled me even more to that consideration?"

Oh, he was good. _Ridiculously_ good. And combined with the fact that she'd also promised Ashe that she'd actually go along with this crazy idea to marry the pint-sized prince of the Archadian empire if he was actually ready to marry her-- and surely he wasn't but he seemed to want to anyway, the nutter, she really had to look into that northerners-only pheromone idea, no Dalmascan boy had ever paid that much attention to her-- Penelo had a feeling she was backing herself into a tight corner here.

"I," Penelo began, sputtered, and tried yet again to form words. "I-- I didn't-- I mean, Larsa, I didn't think _you'd_ mean--"

"Penelo," he said, and he made her voice sound like something brighter and sweeter than it had ever been, "I do realize that I might be coming off as somewhat… insistent on the matter here and that for now, I am merely meant to enjoy your company. Which I do, most sincerely and ardently! But… surely you know how important this matter is? For the sake of Rabanastre-- for Dalmasca-- for Archadia-- for all of Ivalice?"

Oh, he was _good_. Sighing, Penelo wondered just when it was that she had gotten into the habit of getting embroiled in these mad, mad schemes. Maybe they really _were_ rubbing off on her. And not in a fun, roll-around-on-a-beach-with-a-sexy-hunk-o-burning-love-while-waves-pound-the-background-in-a-show-of-passion way either.

"I do," she finally admitted. "And… you're right. And it really was very sweet of you to come to my rescue again. Although--" And now her eyebrows were twitching again and he was starting to look a little nervous-- "--Although I have no idea what you were doing at the bazaar anyway. I mean, didn't I tell you to stay put at my place?"

"Ah," Larsa said, ducking his head down and looking up at her through his long eyelashes again, not that she was planning on letting it affect her, no sir. "Well-- I-- well, one could say that... that perhaps I came to find you in order to be a better friend."

She had to smile a little at that, though he stomach sort of felt like his booted feet had maybe trampled on it. "Hey, didn't you just say that you wanted to think about being more than that? You know, like right now? And before that? Repeatedly? Until my head kind of hurt quite a bit?"

"Well," he said, smiling back, "I cannot dispute that characterization of our past conversations. Repeatedly or otherwise. But… Penelo, I _am_ sincere about being your friend. Although I admit I…"

She stopped at that, phantom knot in her belly tensing again at the look on his face, at the strain suddenly showing in the creased corners of his eyes and his downward turning mouth. "Admit..? Larsa, are you okay? Do you need to sit or something? If you'd like, you could go back to resting at my place and I'll just bring you something to eat…"

"No," Larsa said, face tilting away from her, bangs coming down to hide eyes that always showed so much, despite how precise and polite the rest of him was. "No, I just… I suppose I'm learning how to be a friend to you as best as I can. You see, Penelo, you might be the first I've ever had that wasn't given to me, in one way or another, by my father's hands."

* * *

For a very long moment after that revelation, Penelo stared at Larsa as he stared inquiringly back. There were so many things she wanted to do just then-- take him by the shoulders, perhaps shake him a little, ask him if that was what made her _that_ special to him, why he didn't seem to have anyone else like her in his life, why he was suddenly handing her a responsibility like _this_, what on earth she was supposed to do with his unique brand of madness next…

Instead, she decided to quickly turn on her heels and walk away.

"Wait!" Larsa's voice sounded almost panicked when he finally caught up to her still moving form. "Have you… have you nothing else to say in response? Have I truly angered you with my admission? Penelo, are you to abandon me at the last…?"

She looked over her shoulder to smile reassuringly at him but didn't stop walking for even a second. "No, no, it's okay, I'm not about to do any of that. It's just that, Larsa, I have a feeling we're about to have us another long, emotional talk and, if it's okay with you, I figure I might as well get my laundry done while we're having that."

He just stared blankly at her in response, which Penelo decided was permission enough. And, with as much calm as she could muster, Penelo made her way to her ramshackle apartment, collected a few of the things most in desperate need of a wash and walked all the way back to the underground fount of Lowtown, Larsa tagging anxiously at her heels all the while. It was only when she had spread her bounty and started distributing the flakes of soap among her clothes that she turned to him with a question.

"Hey, Larsa?" she asked. "Ever done laundry by hand before?"

"No," he said, with an almost shy smile. "But I would willingly do learn if… you would consider talking about friendship with me as recompense."

"Deal," she finally decided.

"More like task distribution," he corrected. And when she gave him her already wet hand to shake, he gamely kissed it and spit out soapy bubbles afterwards as she laughed every step of the way.

* * *

"I didn't have a great many friends my age growing up," Larsa told her, obediently scrubbing one of her old jump suits with his bare hands in just the way she had showed him. "In fact, sometimes I wonder if _any_ of them were really my friends, seeing as how they were hand-picked from a discrete circle of nobles notable more for supporting House Solidor's politics than anything else."

"Gee," Penelo dryly said, "_that_ must have been a barrel of laughs for you then."

"You can imagine," Larsa sighed. "Those other children… sometimes I wonder what they _really_ thought of me, of what they would have said if only they had the ability to freely say it. Looking back, it must not have been easy for many of them to have been plucked from their homes every Sunday morning to be bought to the palace to play with a boy they barely knew and that they had to do their best to never offend."

"No," Penelo said, quietly even though she was up to her elbows in bubbles right now, "I think you're probably right. Even if they liked you-- and you're a bit of an total brat so who knows--" (at least Larsa smiled at that) "--that must have at least a little scary. Especially if they had one of those big, scary, armored tampons following them around everywhere--"

"Well now," Larsa interrupted, and he sounded, weirdly enough, more put-out at that than any of the other times she had poked fun at him, "It was Judge Magister Drace who supervised us the entire time and she is as gentle as a hare in the spring time. I'm quite sure that, whatever else might have frightened those children, she wasn't part of it."

Penelo mentally remembered the ickle bunny rabbit that had somehow knocked her out in the jungle and shuddered at the idea of human version of that. "If you say so, Larsa. If you say."

"I do say so," he repeated stubbornly. "That ought to be the end of it. And what in the world is a tampon anyway?"

Until that moment in time, Penelo hadn't ever known it was possible to start choking on nothing but air. And after she finally gained a hold of herself in front of an increasingly bemused Larsa, she struggled to talk about something completely unrelated to her special lady places. "Er… well… I guess, I guess you could say--- say, is this Judge Drace person another hand-picked friend?"

Even with a streak of soap drying in his hair and his bare hands deep in a pile of frayed shirts, Larsa managed a lopsided grin. Those, Penelo knew, were always his most genuine ones. "Very much so. In fact, she was appointed to me as my personal guardian and care-taker since I was born."

"Because she's a woman?" Penelo archly asked. It'd be just her luck if the Archadians were misogynistic on top of everything else.

"No," Larsa primly returned. "Because she is _capable_-- and possibly the only Judge Magister that could have handled my… youthful exuberance. Apparently, very few others of the imperial army proved as adept at finding me when I first started wandering away at the tender age of six."

She had to smile at that. "Well, considering you're so stubborn, she probably had to be to tough as hell put up with you. Most others would probably have just strangled you before you even reached their knees, right?"

"When you meet her," Larsa said warmly, "you ought to ask her just how she managed me all of these years. It might prevent you from doing the same to me as well someday."

Blinking hard, with her cheeks burning all of a sudden, Penelo turned to look more closely at her friend. He looked calmly back, even though a high color was flooding his face as well. "You-- you're not kidding about that, are you?"

Color still high in his cheeks, Larsa nodded. "I do not mean to jest in this, Penelo. Even if, somehow, our… relationship does not go according to plan, I would greatly enjoy your company in Archades. Despite some of our less than couth actions in the larger stage of politics, our capital has much that might delight you."

Intrigued despite herself, Penelo leaned forward across her stack. "Like…?"

When Larsa got excited, he had a habit of swinging his arms. Bubbles slid down his bare palms as he did just that now. "Like our library and the private royal stacks. We have over two million private manuscripts for you to peruse, Penelo! Even Rozarria has never boasted anything of that size."

"Okay," Penelo conceded, heart melting a little at the thought of that many lovely books just waiting for her to look at. Her father might have risen from his grave to hit her upside the head if she let an opportunity like that slide by. "That sounds pretty officially amazing since I've never even _heard_ of anything in Dalmasca like that."

He flashed a quick, almost private smile. "I thought as much."

Oh, Penelo knew a taunt where she saw one. "Hey, are you trying to say we Dalmascans are stupid or uneducated?"

"Not at all," Larsa said quickly. "I'm merely noting that Dalmasca's size does tend to limit its opportunities to build a sizeable national library. And… I simply thought you might be the sort of person to appreciate the chance to expand your choice of reading materials. Books seem, erm, perhaps scarcer than they ought to be to someone of your… well, your… I suppose one could say..."

"In other words," Penelo said around a sigh, "You think I'm so poor I can't afford books anymore." And then, before he could protest, she went on. "And you're right too. Ever since my parents died, I haven't been able to open anything that hasn't been a store ledger. I had to sell my dad's books after they were gone because there wasn't much else I could do with them and I needed the money to feed me and Vaan…"

She looked up. Larsa's eyes were dark and his lips were pursed into a solemn line and he had never looked more Archadian than he did then. She could have hated him, maybe, if she didn't know that he had not been and could never be the cause of anything that had happened in her past.

She mustered a smile somehow, just to soothe him. "I'd love to come to Archades someday, Larsa. Just maybe not, um, anytime soon. Especially not if you keep trying to marry me, you little nutter. So really, if you want to visit anytime soon, you might want to rethink all of those 'nuptial plans'..."

He inclined his head at her in a friendly sort of way. "One can only hope-- though I don't mean to give up my efforts just yet, Penelo."

She snorted to try and cover up for her laugh. Judging by his sly grin, she didn't succeed. "I figured if wouldn't be so easy. And I think we've scrubbed enough for now. Let's just try and wash the clothes off now, okay?"

For the next half hour, they worked within an easy stream of words, Larsa feeding her bits of gossip about the wonders of his capital city while Penelo fended him off as best as she could and the both of them did their best to rinse the soap suds off of their load. Larsa was a quick learner and by the end, she hardly ever needed to interrupt him to correct what he was doing. And by the end of it, when they had a neat stack of wet laundry to hang up to dry and were washing their hands off by the underground stream, he finally finished telling her all that he had probably meant to from the very beginning.

"I've never had many friends," he said, and his voice was somehow both quiet and provoking, hopeful and sad. "Everyone I've ever known-- they've been given to me due to my… status, I suppose, because I am the son of an emperor and one of only so many possible heirs. And I have cared for many of them despite that-- cared for them truly and greatly. But that doesn't change the fact that they aren't mine alone but Archadia's as well. They didn't choose me-- they were chosen _for_ me, more than anything else."

Penelo looked down at her hands just then. Streaked with soap and bubbles, covered with calluses, with rough knuckles granted from generations of brawlers and flat fingertips handed down from a entire ancestry full of merchants… "And you think I'm somehow different from the rest of them? From all these people you knew before, all these nobles and all these judges, from all these people who know and love you best?"

"Yes," Larsa said, and his voice was not quite as steady as it had been. "I know you don't know me or-- love me, not just yet. But you were given to me by luck, perhaps, or fate, or chance. Whatever you'd like to call it. You aren't mine by the will of my father, or because of my status as heir. You chose to be my friend, Penelo and I… I want to choose you as well. I mean to do the best I can by you, whenever I have the chance.""

"I guess I did," Penelo said, and there were so many other things she could have said then

_(We're only friends because of an accident -- I wouldn't have even met you if it weren't for a dashing sky pirate-- You're one of the strangest people I've ever met -- I kind of want to strangle you every time you show me up in something else)_

but in the end, he was right. She _had_ chosen him and no matter how much of a plotter he could be, no matter how many times he'd end up out-dancing her, no matter how insane the schemes he had her caught in were… in the end, she was his friend.

"And I'm glad I did," Penelo said, and her hands felt cold under the stream as she reached for him again. "So what are you going to do now that you know it?"

His hand found hers under the waters, still and cool and callused in ways she'd never before suspected. "I suppose I… just wanted to hear it from you, Penelo. That I mean something to you as well."

She squeezed his hand and watched a tentative smile bloom on his face. "Of course you do. And now that you know that, what _will_ you do?"

For a minute, it seemed as though all he could do was look and look and look at her in turn, as though he were trying to engrave every single part of her face into him. But after a moment, Larsa closed his great gray eyes and began to speak, as though from memory, and words spilled out of him like wine on a wedding day.

"I will protect you from all that would assail you. I will support you from all that would besiege you. I will light whatever paths you walk down on, untie any knot that might bind you and rescue you from whatever tide that might carry you. And most of all, I will honor you, from all that would discredit you, as a fervid friend, an honest comrade, and the most constant of all my companions."

For a minute, all Penelo could do was flush down to her toes and feel his fingers entwine with hers as his words had been spent. "Did you come up with that just now?" she finally managed to ask. "Did Drace tell you that? Because it sounds… well, you make friendship sound pretty damn epic when you say put your words together like that."

Larsa shook his head with a grin. "No, another judge entirely taught me of those words. You're meant to say it to someone you would carry with you always, no matter where or how or when your life will end."

"You don't know if I'm that person yet," she said, and her voice sounded uncertain in her own ears.

"But you did choose me," he said, voice even and unperturbed, though his hand gripped her tightly. "And you deserve to hear those words from me, to know I'm sincere in all of this."

And for the long minute that came afterwards, all she could do was look and look and look at him-- a child who was still years away from reaching his full height, a pale little thing with beautiful hair and pierced ears that was mistaken for a girl wherever he went, a scrawny kid in borrowed clothes with soapy hair and a hopeful smile, a boy with a dream that he would hopefully never let go of, no matter what happened…

"I am," she said, and she lifted her hands from under the waters so she could touch his face for the first time, so she could lightly cup his cheeks in her hands and properly _look_ at him. She had never before noticed that he had a row of pale brown freckles right under his lashes, or that the hair on his forehead was more brown than black or that when he flushed pink, it went all the way to his enormous ears. It made her wonder, with a sort of pang in her heart, of what else there was to him that she had missed out before, of what else there was left to discover in the strange, mad, oddly loveable little brat before her.

"I am," she repeated, and his smile lit up his face like a spot-light beamed from within. "But I'll only accept those words under one condition."

"Yes?" he asked and pressed his chin just a little against the fingers letting go of him just now.

"That I get to say the same," she said. "I won't let you say them-- or _mean_ them-- if you don't let me do it as well. If we're going to friends, Larsa-- real friends, the sort that choose each other, the sort that don't get chosen by others-- we have to both say it and mean it. _That's_ the only way I'll accept anything you have to give."

He nodded, eyes hopeful, and when she tried to repeat his words, his own voice joined hers when she faltered, buoying her up whenever she missed a step. And after it was over and her hands were twisting into nervous tangles in front of her and neither of them could quite meet each other's eyes again, he spoke again.

"So what shall we do now?" Larsa asked shyly, and the warmth in it sent Penelo's stomach knotting oddly yet again-- which might have been why it suddenly took that moment to start _rumbling_, as though the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were galloping around in her underpants just then.

It was an odd relief to start laughing after that, and even better to hear Larsa's bright laughter chime in. And after a few minutes, Penelo finally managed to wipe the tears from her eyes and ask another question. "Well, what about breakfast? We've spent a lot more time soul-searching than we've spent eating and let me tell you, crazy little boy, it's been doing a number on me. So how does running out and getting something a little more edible than the stuff we had last night sound to you?"

Larsa gave her another lopsided smile, bare hands clasping at his back. "That depends, Penelo."

She smiled back. "On what?"

"Will you be purchasing what we shall have? After all, I did put up with you leaching off of imperial resources for a week in Bhujerba. The least you could do is treat me to one meal right now…"

He was still laughing when she pushed him right into the soapy waters, still giggling when he caught her mid-throw to push her down with him, until she was just as wet as he was. "C'mon, you little jerk," she finally said, water running down the sides of her face and streaking down her clothes and wiping the last of the morning-after blues right from her eyes. "I will feed you until your pot-belly bursts if that's what it takes to pay you back."

"Pot belly?" Larsa asked in a tone of sheer outrage that made her laugh with him. "I'll have you know that's merely the effect of the tunic I was wearing before! I haven't an inch of excess fat on my form! Drace would never hear of it."

"Excuses, excuses," she told him cheerily, waving a vague hand at his mid-section (which admittedly _did_ look flatter without the excess shiny fabric he usually went swathed in. Archadians sure did have more-is-more sense of fashion.) "But don't worry, Larsa-- we'll have you fight the flab in no time. I'm going to make a hard-working Rabanastran boy of you yet, you know that?"

"I do," he said and hoisted himself out of the stream and reaching down to help her out as well. "And I look forward to it. I've no doubt you'll come up with many… ah, shall we say _creative_ ways to repay me for my efforts at winning your hand?"

Penelo simply smiled brightly at him in response. He wasn't, after all, the _only_ one who could come up with a devious series of plans.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** This was, oddly enough, both the most illuminating and nerve-wracking chapter I've written so far. I had a genuinely wonderful time writing it-- but then second-guessed myself every which way through. I can't help but think I'm fast-forwarding the character development, though that could just be my 'fic-writing neurosis talking here!

Also, I have a question about pacing. What do you think of the pacing of this fic, if you don't mind me asking? Is it moving too slowly? I'm very afraid that the speed of it is slowing to a crawl since I'd like to get to the events of Mount Bur Omisace before chapter 3836 comes and goes but I still think it's important to try and flesh out both of the main characters _and_ their relationship with each other. (Which, argh, I hope I haven't bungled up here.) And that is, of course, not even counting the cameos from the other characters I'm planning on working in eventually. Everyone and their half blind llama should show up in at least one scene of this story.


	7. Of Magisters and Men

This is for the hopelessly fantastic **Acerbitas**, who I owed fic to way back when. Here's hoping you enjoy this for your birthday, you fabulous creature, you. ;) And I'd also like to thank **Comet Wong**, who PM'd me a review for the last chapter of Knots when the reviewing system of this site apparently went dysfunctional. (Was that why people seemed to lose interest in this fic? It was a little puzzling to see the number of reviewers drop while the number of hits remained steady.) Thank you for being so kind, **CW**!

Tthis is a stand-alone one-shot in the Knots, Ties and Tides universe, set a few weeks before Larsa heads off to Jahara to reunite with his clueless lady love. You don't need to read the series to understand the basics of this fic, however. And reviews and constructive criticism are very much appreciated. This series really is a great deal of hard work for me and I'd really love to know if anyone is enjoying this other than myself. ;)

* * *

**Title: Of Magisters and Men**

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Series: Knots, Ties and Tides**

**Characters/Pairings: Gabranth/Drace, Hints of Larsa/Penelo, Vayne, Gramis**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: Gabranth and Drace discuss the perils of adolescence-- Lord Larsa's in particular.**

* * *

Oddly enough, the first time that Gabranth had to face the fact that Lord Larsa was growing up came about due to a series of scribbles in the margins of an inconsequential sheaf of note paper.

One of the strangest constants of working with Archadian nobility, Gabranth had long since learned, had to be the sheer amount of _paperwork_ they were always lugging about, no matter where they went off too. He didn't quite know how and he wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know how… but somehow, every blue-blood he had ever known in the Northern-most territories of Ivalice seemed to come equipped with their own means of producing tree-pulp that could generate endless reams upon reams of what looked to be gibberish to his untrained Landisler eye. And as the potential heir to the greatest throne in the North, his young charge was no exception to the rule. In fact, in many ways, Larsa Ferrinas Solidor could even said to be an exemplar of bookishness next to some of the aristocratic louts and gadabouts Archades could produce.

(And as a prime example of such, Gabranth could point to at least _one_ Bunansa he had once been forced to supervise and who had been the fuel of his nightmares for years to come.)

Therefore, when Gabranth had finally settled his young charge down in Archades again and did his level best to make sure he wouldn't go gallivanting about without proper supervision, it had been oddly comforting to see the usual mushroom cloud of documents blossom at Larsa's elbow as soon as he had found a desk again.

But bending over his charge's shoulders to see the usual flow of notes interrupted by drawings of a most unusual sort had certainly not been. Having Larsa catch him in the act and then go through an unusual amount of stuttering and blushing that made his guardian's eyebrows shoot right up to the top of his helm-- well, that hadn't exactly struck Gabranth as normal either. And _then_ watching Larsa stand up, assume what Gabranth had long termed his Brooding Solidor Scion of Many Sorrows pose and confess his great and ardent admiration for a girl he barely knew may have made Gabranth's brain melt a little within his skull.

And at the end of said confession, at least thirty minutes of which had been spent exclaiming over said girl's virtues, manners, tragic life story, hair style, hop-scotch playing prowess and interesting nether-region designs, Larsa had gone so far as to put his hand over his heart and pledge of his eternal (and, God only knew, _devious_ and _inscrutable_) affection to a girl he had been with for all of seven days.

"I know," Larsa solemnly concluded, "that most of those around me-- present company excluded, of course-- see me merely as a youth. But it's long since been time for me to shed the trappings of my childhood and Gabranth, I really feel as though she might be the key to achieving such. What could show me as being more ready for adulthood than to be with one such as her?"

Drace had once told him that there was nothing more frightening than a Solidor man in love. Gabranth had a sinking feeling that this was something he might learn first-hand just why that was quite soon.

* * *

An hour, a very brief explanation and one smuggled sheaf of paper later, Gabranth was nursing a mug of pale ale in his private quarters while his partner, lover and theoretically better half was examining said margin scribble with an expression on her face that suggested that she had found herself looking into the abyss and it had batted its eyelashes right back at her. And when Drace finally stopped eyeing the scribbles before her as though they'd leap out of the paper and bite her conk if she didn't keep a close watch, her words only confirmed as much.

"She's pretty enough but nothing about her strikes me as anything out of the ordinary. Are you quite sure _she's_ the one that our young lord insists on making grandiose pledges about?"

Despite himself, Gabranth nudged closer to the papers again for another look. And no matter how hard he squinted, the drawings he had spent the last half hour mentally twitching over stubbornly remained. As did the interesting jump suit squiggles that Larsa had mooned over previously. My but that boy had a fine eye for detail.

"Because," his partner grimly continued on, "I don't much like to doubt you, as you know, but I do find it rather… disturbing to think of Lord Larsa, of all people, being willing and able to express interest in someone. No matter how dainty and comely and fragile and helpless and my god I thought I raised him better than to want things of that nature."

At that, Gabranth flashed the first smile he had in him for days. "Well, Drace, to be fair, it probably isn't your fault. He always _did_ have an affinity for fairy tales, after all. And considering the fact that certain _others_ of the Solidor line barely seem to take an interest in anyone at all, male or female, perhaps we ought to be glad that Lord Larsa has his eyes on anyone at all."

That didn't seem to much console Drace. "But still… a Dalmascan? And a little girl he picked up from the outskirts of a mine? Does that really strike you as a suitable… anything at all for our little charge?"

He had to smile again. "What bothers you more, Drace? The fact that she's Dalmascan or that Lord Larsa wants her despite the fact?"

Drace gave him a speaking look. He coughed and moved on.

"In any case, their meeting seems to be more of a happy accident than anything else. I do believe he told me that she had been kidnapped by some Bangaa bounty hunters who, er, were after a bounty of a most, hmm, unusual sort and who resorted to using her as bait."

As he predicted, her eyebrows went shooting up to her bangs. "Oh. So our young lord went about rescuing her from their wicked, fiendish clutches and schemes, as he's always pined for?"

"Well, admittedly, not so much from _their_ clutches as from that of Judge Ghis."

Hers lips curled up in that way that always made him want to kiss her a great deal. "Ah, the late and unlamented Judge Ghis. I suppose he showed her as much tender care and mercy as he did to all his other victims?"

"He threatened to chuck her into the nearest Archadian prison on account of her being just blonde enough for his tastes."

From the way her eyebrows were threatening to annex her forehead, she was about as disgusted with the idea of what could have happened to the girl as he had been. "Lord Larsa offered her a very lucky escape after all."

"Indeed. According to him, he very neatly appeared on the horizon of her distress just in time to carry our grateful heroine off on a white chocobo towards a happy ending. Or at least a Bhujerban sanctuary courtesy of our dear and ever obedient Judge Marquis Halim."

Her laugh mingled with his at that. "Oh, I have no doubt that he is ever a faithful servant of our empire. And I suppose our sweet maiden repaid Lord Larsa very properly afterwards?"

"Ah, Drace," Gabranth continued, ever the picture of reason and reliability. "There's no need to look so suspicious. From what he tells me, said thanks was both verbal and physical."

"…And this is meant to reassure me?!"

It was decidedly hard to keep a straight face of his own when she looked so willful and engaged, when her hair was all afluff with anger and color flooded her cheeks again. He did his best anyhow.

"As in, teasing about how very brave he was and repayment in the form of boisterous games of hopscotch that left him more than a bit smitten with our unnamed heroine's physique and figure flattering get-up."

Drace made a noise that suggested that he'd have an easier time trying to make her believe that Vayne Solidor was secretly a magical unicorn with a horn placed lower than usual. "Now you just jest with me."

"Not at all. Take a look at the full-body sketches again if you will."

Drace took another look as Gabranth flipped through the pages for her further education. Her face afterwards suggested that she had perhaps aged a few years in the span of an instant.

"Hopscotch, you say," she said with a tone of infinite and infinitely awful dread. "With all the brushing and the touching and the hopping and the-- oh my god, he really _is_ growing up, isn't he?"

Gabranth nodded in commiseration. "He reportedly that he unfortunately did quite poorly against his lass and had to forfeit his earrings for quite a time afterwards."

"Dalmascan girls. My god, what did I tell you about those underdressed hussies! Even their princess can't seem to keep her clothes on, apparently!"

Not for the first time, he felt obscurely compelled to defend the girl, possibly on a account of his own fellow feeling against Archadian stuffiness and their more-and-more-is-_really_-more sense of style. "To be fair, she _did_ give Lord Larsa's earrings back to him after a day of wearing them. Though from what he tells me, he would have gladly conceded them to her as a trophy if she was willing to return the favor."

Drace shrugged the information off, though Gabranth knew that Larsa's keen sense of chivalry had more or less come directly from her. "Even so, that doesn't negate the fact that she likely went about without decent clothes the entire time she was with him, possibly warping poor Lord Larsa's innocent young mind as she did so."

Now _his_ eyebrows were quirking cheerfully. "It's hard to think of how much more he could be warped after over a decade of dealing with his brother. And Drace, be serious. How can you tell how scantily she's dressed from simple pencil sketch?"

"Gabranth," she said in a tone of infinite weariness, "be realistic. She's _Dalmascan_."

He winced and Drace went on. "Even when they _had_ a king, he wouldn't wear a shirt. Which honestly explains a great deal about why it was so easy to subdue their country. Our cavalry likely won over theirs less by strength of numbers than because they could put on proper armor."

"Point," he finally conceded, images of the leather nursing bras he had personally seen Dalmascan troops wear to battle flashing through his head. "And after all, no one knows armor like the Archadians know armor. Still, of all the people he could have taken to, she seems innocuous enough. And for all of Lord Larsa's plotting-- and of course, we know him, he's certainly up to _some_ plotting, even you have to feel at least a _little_ bit of pity for the poor girl-- she certainly isn't of high enough birth to matter in the long run anyway."

Drace looked slightly mollified at that, at least. "Well, likely you _are_ right. No matter how determined our lord might be to entertain her here, she hasn't any reason to stay for long."

After another sip, Gabranth finally let the alcohol work on him long enough to ask the question he'd been hoarding all this time. "Why the hostility then, Drace? You're usually the first to speak up in favor of more women in the Archadian court, after all. Even if, somehow, Lord Larsa could connive to bring the girl here, what would be the trouble? You're being unusually…"

Her eyes were a little terrifying when they were slit this way at him. "You mean to say catty, don't you?"

He tried to negotiate the next few words as quickly as possible. "No… no that isn't… I wouldn't say _catty_, per se, more like, erm…"

Well, if he absolutely _had_ to die, there were probably worse ways to go than being beaten to death by a beautiful woman. It might not be precisely the way he'd always _thought_ he'd go, but still. In the afterlife, or at least wherever he ended up in after this was over, this would make for a fine story.

To his enormously relief, though, Drace eventually stopped fingering the hilt of her weapon and sighed. "I suppose I couldn't blame you. It's just… don't you find it so strange to think of our young lord as growing up and even having his _eye_ set on someone?"

It was surprisingly hard to hide his smile when he didn't have a helm to cover it behind. "Trust be told, not really. I was around that age when the same happened to me, though I was never quite as successful with women as… as…"

As someone else had. Once. Before. Before the turn of _everyone_.

And as though she realized it, as she _always_ realized it, Drace put her hand next to his, stroked his calluses with her own, brought him back to this present moment and what lay within, rather than what had festered far before her.

"Point taken," Drace said, and her voice was calm and lovely and so close to his ear, drawing him back to the present gently. "Still, I don't know if I'm ready for Lord Larsa's adolescence. Good lord, I'm not even sure if I've recovered from Lord Vayne's one!"

He squeezed his fingers gently around her wrist in thanks and received a lopsided smile in turn. "Having heard rumors from that era, I can believe you."

Drace began to fondle the hilt of her club again in that way that tended to alarm and excite him in equal measure. "I had to wear a _dress_ for his coming of age, Gabranth. A _dress_. One that put a bow across my _behind_, in an underhanded attempt to _embarrass_ me to death. I think that was the first time I ever understood the true evil festering in him."

Gabranth groped for words he could speak without being clubbed to death and found, rather to his alarm, nothing whatsoever.

"And that's not _even_ going into the time that 'Lord Vayne' placed an angry nanna inside my bedroom for, as he explained it, a _romantic surprise._ As though he has enough soul in him to feel anything like a normal human being. And it shed, Gabranth. It shed all over my _underthings_. I had itches where no itches ought to exist for _weeks_."

"…" Gabranth started to say but finally stopped when it was clear that no words would be forthcoming.

"Please at least tell me that if Lord Larsa approaches you for romantic advice at any point, you shall not involve angry nannas in it."

"…I will most certainly try," Gabranth finally managed. "I don't really believe Lord Larsa tends towards the 'angry farm animal' school of courting anyway."

His partner across from him shrugged wearily and took a leisurely sip from her cup. "True enough. I should have hoped I at least managed to grind that much into his thoughts."

"Along with the proper way to sling a potions pack across several territories while never running out of the best items," Gabranth said, and they shared a quick smile over their mugs of ale. For the life of him, Gabranth _still_ hadn't figured the trick to that one out.

"And," his lover added, " I suppose I can even feel a bit sorry for the girl he's after if he's anything like his forefathers. For all his faults-- and believe me, they are many and varied-- at least Lord Vayne never troubled any but me in his half-hearted attempts at spawning further Solidor scions. But sometimes I think Lord Larsa takes _too_ much after his father…"

Gabranth resisted the urge to tip his hand by winking at her, having more than a passing acquaintance with stories of the imperial harem the present emperor had maintained in his youth. Drace, he recalled learning, had had herself a merry time in them once as well. "There's nothing worse than a Solidor man in love, yes?"

She fixed him with a darkling eye that did nothing to hide her smile. "Honestly speaking? Absolutely nothing!"

After a minute, though, Drace sobered up again. "But the thought of Lord Larsa growing up and growing tall and one day settling down with someone… It strikes me as so odd. Is it… ah, you'll laugh at me if I tell you I very much want to keep him just as he is, won't you?"

He very carefully did not laugh, though he was tempted to. He was well aware that she used that giant club of hers for more than decoration, even though her primary role nowadays lay more in the class room than the battlefield. "Well, considering the rigors of puberty, he might eventually wish for that as well."

His partner groaned. "Oh, please no, not this litany again…"

Gabranth cheerfully went on anyway. "His voice will drop. His limbs will lengthen. And he shall grow pustules and hair where none have ever existed before…"

Drace had her face buried in her hands now. "You are horrible, Gabranth, just awful. Why ever did we let you drag your mud-splattered carcass to Archades, anyhow?"

He dramatically cast his eyes at the sky at that. "_I'm_ awful? Drace, you wound my young and aching heart! I was merely trying to be realistic and prepare you for the changes to come. And if anything, I ought to be pitied. Who do you think he will approach for advice on love and grooming and god knows what else when all of this occurs?"

Well, at least she looked slightly more heartened at that. "Not I, thank god. At least my ovaries turned out to be good for _something_!"

Now _he_ wanted to sigh. "You need not delight in that fact so much, Drace."

Payback was a bitch and Drace wasn't so bad at playing one either. "Heh. Needn't I?"

"No," he said sternly, though even he had to grin when she laughed afterwards. "But Lord Larsa is, for all of that, a mere twelve years of age. And no matter how much the spirit might be willing, our young lord's flesh is much too young to be bothered with the finer points of courting and ruling over any and all of us. So why don't we celebrate our run of good luck with him thus far tonight? And merely hope for continued luck with him to come?"

"I'm not," Drace said darkly, "at all convinced that we can count all of our dealings with Lord Larsa as the result of good luck. Remember that one episode when he managed to escape from you at the age of eight in the wilds of Old Archades? And just _what_ sort of characters we had to bargain with to get him back? At least Cid's lay about son proved useful for once in his life then. It made all the headaches in dealing with him just a bit more manageable."

Gabranth winced at the memory-- as well as the rather potent dressing down he had received at the hands of the Emperor afterwards. "Point once more. But still, at least he isn't nearly as homicidal, suicidal, regicidal, fratricidal, matricidal or patricidal as some of his storied relatives have been throughout the age. That's as much our influence as anything else."

When Drace smiled like this, with all herself and with her hands folded against her chin and her teeth gleaming beneath her bright eyes, she rivaled any of the wonders of Landis in its prime. "That _is_ true. God only knows that our good Lords Gramis and Vayne had nothing to do with that much."

His cup of ale looked so very inviting when tipped against hers. "And _that_ accomplishment calls for a celebration in and of itself. So why not have one?"

Her own hand twined around her cup's stem, even though she still looked in need of a bit more convincing. "Why not? But given the less than ideal circumstances that we're laboring under… whatever shall we have it for?"

Gabranth actually had to think of that for a moment. His own strength lay more in cunning than in a quaint prose style, after all. But his tongue had once helped him convince the Emperor of Archades to advance a foreigner from a defeated and despairing realm into one of the highest positions of his empire. And he rather liked to think that it would prove equal to her challenge right now as well.

"It's true, Drace, that our lives are proving to be less than perfect and predictable in every way… and yet, as long as we've each other, what need have we for perfection after all? Let's drink, then, to what we have, with each other and within each other, and to our good luck, frayed though it might be after so long. And most of all, let's drink to the continued growth and good health of Lord Larsa. He is our hope and his happiness is our happiness and perhaps, after he is grown, he shall prove to be the redemption for us all."

And from the _look_ that Drace flashed him from beneath her long, silverfish lashes, that tongue of his had served him right well once more.

"Cheers," his lover said warmly… right before she took a sip from his cup and then grabbed his chin to take a sip from _him._ And the kiss she gave him afterwards was more than enough to knock any thoughts of young lords, damsels in distress and homicidal madness out of his mind till the arrival of morning once more.


	8. Chapter 7

I can't believe it took me almost a month to finish up the next chapter of Knots, Ties and Tides. This story line only gets more and more complex as it goes along, honestly! In any case, this update is for the wonderful **Selphish**. Consider it an early birthday present, my fairest. ;)

As always comments, corrections and criticism are completely welcome and loved! And since this fic really is so very labor-intensive, I'd much appreciate hearing out opinions on it. They really do shape the chapters that come about in the future, honestly...

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 7**

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Series: Knots, Ties and Tides**

**Characters/Pairings: Penelo, Larsa, Larsa/Penelo (...Somewhat), Cast**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had no idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

For now, though, her most devious set of plans involved getting as big a breakfast as both of them could possibly devour on as small a bill as possible. And so, hand in hand, she and Larsa had puttered back up to the Muthru Bazaar-- after she had assured him that she'd let him handle any more threats to whatever was left of her maiden virtue, anyway.

"Worse comes to worse," she had told him, batting her eyelashes for as much as they were aerodynamically worth, "you could always conk whoever bothers us on the head with that giant sword of yours. And," she added after another minute, "that wasn't meant to be innuendo either."

Both of Larsa's thoroughly impressive eyebrows had shot up to the top of his head just that. "I should hope not, Penelo. Are you sure we can't substitute something else instead? It _is_ a rather important relic of my family."

She just smiled angelically at him. "But you've got _such_ an impressive throwing arm, Larsa. And you're _so_ smart. Even if we don't sacrifice that, I'm sure you can come up with _something_." And her friend had swallowed hard and stuttered out a yes-- at least her rather threadbare charms were good for _something_-- and that had been the end of that, really.

A half hour and one very prolonged negotiation over the price of two beef noodle bowls with a Seeq chef later, both she and Larsa were sitting next to the fountain in the heart of Rabanastre, doing their best to eat while simultaneously shaming their respective countries with the most salacious gossip they could possibly share with food in their mouths. As she had told her companion, if she was going to be hosting him, he might as well take the time to try and entertain her. And she might even let him decide where they ought to go on a field trip tomorrow if he could make her laugh more than the opposite occurred…

Looking back, Penelo had to admit that this was probably a terrible thing to challenge Larsa to do because it turned out that, no matter how strange some of the people she had met in Rabanastre were (and Vaan was really only the tip of the tragically stunted iceberg), the people in Archades were odder still. By the time he had finished with detailing the adventures of one would-be and apparently very sparkly lothario named Famarama Bananallama, or whatever his name was, Penelo had already snorted hot relish through her nose three times and been reduced to tears. And it was only when she had tried to make Larsa laugh by telling him of some of the more interesting exploits of a certain notorious relation of hers--

("His wife? A chocobo."

"Oh _my_."

"And one that wasn't even fully grown either."

"…So, the people of your line, they've historically taken an interest in the… slightly under-aged?"

"I never said that! Uncle Mortimer was always just really strange!")

--that she noticed that he wasn't really, well, _eating_.

"Larsa," she asked, "is there something wrong with your food? Is it undercooked or anything? If it is, just tell me and we'll go back to the chef and make him cook it all over again. I didn't spend 8 whole gil on some noodles just to--"

"No," he interrupted. "No, I mean… no, honestly, it's perfectly fine. It's just--"

He hesitated just then, hands still rimming around the edge of his bowl of food. Curiosity digging at her heels, Penelo made a soft noise and lightly touched his arm. And one quick look and a slight flush later, Larsa seemed to take that as reason enough to go on abruptly.

"Penelo… don't you find consuming food made by… persons of such appearance just a little, well… peculiar?"

For a minute, the question didn't even register. Penelo had never thought of herself as particularly slow before but sometimes, around Larsa and the whiplash inducing questions he could shower her with, she felt like she was treading molasses. "I… what? Sorry? Why would I do something like that?"

Blinking and hunching a little over his bowl again, as though anticipating something unpleasant, Larsa went on anyway. "I… erm. I didn't mean that as a slur against our good chef, of course. Especially not after he was open to so much persuasion about the true value of his cooking."

Penelo had to beam at that. She hadn't been the daughter of two of the best magic merchants in Rabanastre for nothing, after all, and she could damn well bargain for all she was worth anytime.

At her smile, something wound tight seemed to loosen up in Larsa and he sat up straighter as he went on. "But, regardless, is it regular for you to consume dishes that have been prepared by non-hume hands, Penelo? Are you really not at all the least bit… _startled_ by such meals?"

"I--" Penelo started and then trailed off, honestly not sure of what she could say. She had known a long time past that the nobility lived very differently than common folk like her and, moreover, that there'd be plenty of differences between the customs of Archades and Rabanastre as well. The fact that Larsa had apparently spent most of his life being ringed by huge, armored thugs and apparently thought that was normal was a bit of a tip-off towards that.

But she'd never anticipated that something as small as _this_ would be one of them… "Larsa, you've seriously never eaten anything made by someone who wasn't a hume before? Never, ever, ever? Not even for one meal?"

Shoulders hunching again, Larsa nodded. And sighing, Penelo ducked her head to look into what was left of his food. If he had taken two bites of it, she'd have been shocked. "So… are you sure you don't want the rest of this? I mean, really, it doesn't matter what the cook looks like as long as the food's good. And I've got to say, as strange as they can sometimes be, Seeqs usually make _excellent_ chefs. Why do you think they're usually so large anyway?"

At least Larsa grinned at that. "That does make a strange sort of sense, Penelo. And I have to admit that I really haven't had the chance to experience the culinary efforts of any race other than our own. In Archades, the palace chefs are all humes. Honestly speaking, in Archades, practically everyone tends to be a hu…"

He trailed off after seeing the look on Penelo's face. And… probably she shouldn't be so shocked at the thought of Archadians being so-- _so_ uptight about something as superficial as what color or shade or scale a person's skin was. Hell, Archadia was practically famous throughout all of Ivalice for how many rods the average citizen of that empire seemed to have shoved up their rear. If nothing else, it could probably account for the funny, stiff-legged, pigeon-toed walk she'd even seen Larsa give-- although admittedly, only in the company of other high-and-mighty people. When he was with just her, something about him just seemed a bit less… stiff and a bit more… swingy. If that made any sense at all here.

But what he had to say was still strange because… well, for as long as she'd lived, Penelo had always grown up with people of different races. She'd played with seeq and bangaa children as a child, learned how to dance from a viera who had wandered into Rabanastre and had a peculiar affinity for fleet footed children and had always known Migelo as a good friend of her family. Hell, in Rabanastre, she even knew a few families of mixed races-- usually humes with viera or bangaa with viera or moogles with viera-- the few viera that apparently left their homes for the cities in Ivalice seemed to be pretty open to kinky intersexual swinging-- but she'd seen plenty of other sorts of couples as well.

It was just weird to think that someone Larsa's age could have gone his whole life without being around non-humes too much, honestly speaking.

"Oh," Penelo said after a bit. "That's kind of… I'm really sorry, Larsa, I don't mean to be rude. It's just… well, that's just not what I'm used to. I never grew up thinking about things that way. I mean, as long as someone could do their job well, nobody in my family ever really cared about where they came from or how they hatched or whether they had scales or feathers or bunny ears or that sort of thing…"

"It must seem absurd to you," Larsa said ruefully. "But then, I've noticed that Rabanastre tends to be quite advanced in the way it sees the many different races of Ivalice. We in Archades don't tend to be nearly as… open-minded in our conceptions of such things."

Penelo shifted uneasily in her seat and then looked at Larsa, still fidgeting across from her with his hands cupped around the remnants of his food. He must be hungry, of course, no matter how much the thought of eating something that'd been prepared by someone that wasn't a hume might surprise him. And he was her guest and he was her friend and she was responsible for him right now and even if he did find something that should be ordinary really strange… well, that wasn't really his fault, was it? After all, it wasn't as though he had _chosen_ to be born in Archades, to be born into his family, to have to live with people so bizarre, so narrow-minded, so used to doing such awful things with such terrible frequency…

After a minute, she let her hand fall gently down on Larsa's shoulder and his pale gray eyes lifted up to meet her own. "It is a little strange," she confessed, and he shrank a little from her touch at that. "But," she went on, as brightly as she could, "we're trying to make you into a real Rabanastran boy for a bit, right? So that means we have to get you used to being with real Rabanastran people-- some of whom happen to be real Rabanstran chefs of the extremely roly-poly variety. Right now, as your host, I consider that my number one duty."

Now Larsa's shoulder was lifting slightly again, stirring against her fingers, and the corners of his mouth were shifting into that gentle, lopsided smile she liked so much. "And how, dear Penelo, would you presume that I should do such a thing?"

"By letting me help you polish it off," she said warmly, and lifted her hand off his shoulder to grip her fork again. "First to finish off your food gets to… hmm, I don't know… decide where to go on that trip outside of Rabanastre tomorrow!"

Somehow, despite the soft upward turn at the corners of his face, Larsa managed a more-than-credible mock frown. "But I thought that was to be my prize for making you laugh more with my stories than vice versa?"

"That was a draw," Penelo replied firmly, "because we never got to finish on account of you being so picky. So I'm declaring a new contest to figure out who gets it. Although," she added thoughtfully, "you could always forfeit and then…"

As she had hoped, Larsa straightened up again, fork in hand as though wielding a miniature saber meant solely for his stomach. "A true man of House Solidor never forfeits. First to finish wins then?"

And people thought she hadn't a spark of deviousness beneath her cute little pigtails. "Game on, Solidor. Let's start."

* * *

"I can't believe," Penelo said a little while later, "that you can be so short and so skinny and _still_ eat so much in such a short amount of time. Where do you _put_ it all, honestly?"

"Pot belly," Larsa responded complacently, and she had to smile ruefully. She'd walked right into that one. "And what would my lady have us do now?"

All she could do for now was groan-- at both the nickname _and_ the humiliating defeat. First he'd out-danced her. Then he'd out-gossiped her. And now he'd somehow managed to _out-eat_ her. Next he'd probably reveal that he could also out-shop-clerk her and there'd be nothing left to do but commit ritual suicide to keep up the honor of her family name. "Don't know, really. You should pick, you're the guest. We could do all sort of things. Go check out the shops, go check out the viera, go check out what stupid things the imperial soldiers are now doing…"

Almost imperceptibly, Larsa winced at the last one. "I wouldn't mind going to see more of the shops in Rabanastre, Penelo. Didn't you once tell me that you worked as a clerk within one?"

Ages ago, yes. Her little house guest of marital madness must have a great memory. "Right-- Migelo's Sundries. You'd probably like it a lot, I think. Migelo's an old friend of my family and he always lets me work as first cashier _and_ he always stocks the best potions in all of Dalmasca. And I know how much you love your potions so…"

In mid-stretch, Larsa grinned. "Well, they certainly do take less time to deploy in battle than conventional spells, you must admit that surely."

Folding her arms across her body, Penelo sniffed. "Don't go trying to spread your filthy, crazy lies to me, Solidor. Magic is best and as a renewable source, it's better for the environment as well."

"I'm merely speaking the truth," Larsa argued back warmly. "Magic might be renewable resource but in the heat of battle, casting it can drain too many resources. And in any case, if we're to go to visit any shops, we're going to need to go quite quickly. Between my valiant rescue of you and all the various other events that went on this morn, the evening appears to be coming quickly."

And when Penelo craned her neck up towards the sky, her face paled. Larsa was as right about this as he was about, sadly enough, damn near everything, and the sun _was_ hanging lower in the sky than she thought it would be. It must already be about five in the afternoon and the evening was slowly but surely descending…

"Oh my god," Penelo said, and fought the urge to collapse with a gurgle. "As soon as I tell her about our change in plans, Ashe is going to _flay me_."

* * *

No matter how much Larsa complicated her life, Penelo had to admit that there were definitely times when she was glad she was with him and not-- say-- Vaan. Because even though Vaan, strange though it might seem, could be rather quick-witted at times, he had nothing on Larsa for sheer reaction speed. Within seconds of hearing Ashe's name, he had sprung to action, putting away all the bowls, seating her on the nearest convenient flat surface and immediately getting down on one bended knee in what she'd had long since realized was his I-am-about-to-make-a-very-serious-entreaty pose. Penelo knew that if she got down on her as often as she did his, she'd be hobbling soon enough. He seemed to carry it off well, however.

Maybe it was a Solidor thing.

"Penelo," Larsa said, and his voice was grave and soft but oddly soothing. "I'm assuming you're about to head out to Eruyt Village now to ask the Lady Ashe to allow our stay here to be prolonged?"

"Yes," she said, and twitched slightly. "I'm hoping that even if she wants to carve me up a bit, she'll still let me come back in one basic piece."

Oh, it was _just not on_ to start smiling in the face of such danger, especially since he wasn't in danger of being the carvee. "Don't you feel as though you may be exaggerating a little? Surely even Lady Ashe can think of plausible reasons to let us get more acquainted with each other, even _if_ she wants to arrive at Mount Bur Omisace quickly."

Penelo had to pause at that. She had her own reasons for wanting to spend more time with Larsa in Rabanastre-- mainly, to get him to see how much the occupation was hurting the people here so that even if she didn't marry him, he'd still be for Dalmascan freedom after he became emperor. But somehow, she didn't think Ashe would be very impressed by that argument.

She said as much. "If _you've_ got some clever idea to explain why we should spend one full week with each other, now's the time to spill it. I'm afraid I'm running out of steam here. And no, I _don't_ think Ashe'll be all that hunky dory if we tell her we just need more time to get, um, used to each other. That's just not what she's like."

Despite the gravity of the situation, he _still_ insisted on smiling at her. "Having spent only a fraction of a day with Lady Ashe, I must confess to being a bit curious. What _is_ she like?"

Penelo had to look at him in sheer wonder. "Didn't you figure it out? What she's like is _crazy_."

After another laugh, Larsa finally put what Penelo recognized was his serious plotting face-- rounded chin up and round eyes down, so he looked lost in thought. Penelo had to stifle a giggle at the mental images of moogle aristocracy that conjured up.

But what he had to say wiped any thoughts of giggling right away. "Honestly, Penelo, I've been thinking of such a contingency myself. I really do want to spend more time with you in Rabanastre, to learn more of you, to learn more of how to-- well. To know more about you. And truly, you _must_ feel just as I feel, yes?"

Despite herself, Penelo had to admit that was the case. "I... I guess I do feel that way. I mean, I wasn't lying about being your friend earlier. I really do like you. So, I mean... I would. I would like to spend as much time as we can here."

At the very least, it was a little more fun than roaming through the Ivalicean countryside, watching various members of their party dismember various things.

"Good," Larsa said, and smiled. "Because the more time I spend with you here, the more I'm convinced that you'd be happier in Archades, with me. I know that your life here isn't... necessarily all that comfortable-- not that it's so through any fault of your own!"

'No,' one very small and very ugly part of Penelo wanted to say. 'It's not my fault at all. It's the fault of _your_ empire.'

She kept quiet and, still kneeling before her, Larsa raised one hand to her knees. "But I want to give you something far better than what I've seen you with here. And in Archades, as a member of House Solidor, anything you'd like would be at your feet. It would be a better situation for us all, especially given all that our marriage would mean for both Archadia and Dalmasca's future. I mean, wouldn't you agree?"

For a long, long moment, all Penelo could do was stare down at his warm, friendly, open face and feel… feel…

Because she liked him and he was her friend and she knew… she thought she finally knew why he might like her in turn, enough to go along with this entire marriage scheme. Because he'd probably never known anyone like her before, someone near his age who was willing to speak to him clearly and honestly. And being able to find her and rescue her and then do all these things he'd never done before with her probably made him think that she was good enough to marry, or something. Which was crazy because she wasn't-- not where the son of an emperor was concerned, anyway. She wasn't anything special and there wasn't anything about her that made her worthy of what he could give her and the only reason Larsa even liked her was because she was the first girl that had ever caught his eye and let him carry out his damsel-in-distress fantasies.

If he had been just been a few years older… she could have taken him seriously. She could have stepped back from the situation and stopped paying attention to all the ways they were different and all the reasons she had to hate his family and think more about all the little things he did that she loved, all the little things that could have bought them together eventually.

If he was just a bit older, she could have thought about how much she liked his smile, how often he made her laugh and how she liked his habit of coming to her rescue so frequently and efficiently. If he was less a boy and more a man, she could have smiled over how he was always willing to take on a new challenge and how he was so honest about the things he didn't understand and how he always tried to figure out these things anyway. If he wasn't such a child, she could have let herself depend on his quiet strength, his incredible intelligence, even his way of cleverly making things happen even when they didn't want to be made.

If he had been just a bit older…

But he was only twelve years old and it wouldn't be fair to trap him into marrying her just so she'd have a good home in the future and a place in the world that nobody could take away. It wasn't fair to say yes when she didn't really love him, when his family still scared her, when just the thought of touching him intimately made her feel queasy. It wouldn't be fair to either of them... no matter how much she might want what he had to offer. No matter how she sometimes wanted someone to need her the way he seemed to need her, even if it wasn't a real need. Even if it was just an illusion conjured up by a boy with a crush.

Someone. Something. _Anything_.

"Larsa," she finally said softly, "I really _am_ enjoying my time with you. I can't promise you anything but I really will think about this whole… _situation_ seriously. So let's just take it slowly, okay? Everything we're thinking about now-- being with each other, loving each other, especially _marrying_ each other-- it's too much to rush here."

"Slowly," Larsa said, as though he was trying to sound out a foreign word. "If you'd like-- yes. Yes, we can take it slowly." And then he smiled and his eyes lit up in that soft, burnished way they sometimes did, when he was pleased about something. "And thank you. For saying yes. For wanting this with me."

"You're welcome," Penelo softly said, and hoped like hell that she was really doing the right thing.

"So," Larsa went on, more happily than Penelo thought proper, "as long as we've the same goals in mind, there's no way we could possibly falter in achieving what we want like. Really, to have the Lady Ashe cleave to our plans, all we would need to do is pretend that my-- please don't laugh, Penelo, you have to be convincing when you say this-- that my tender young age is causing me to doubt my capacity to carry out this betrothal plan. And in turn, _you_ find yourself in need of more time to convince _me_ of our marriage's many, _many_ benefits and beneficiaries."

For a moment, all Penelo was capable of doing was staring at him in horror. And then, after the moment passed, she held the stare for a little longer anyhow. "You want me to tell Ashe that I need more time to seduce you into doing my saucy, salacious bidding?"

"No," Larsa corrected primly. "Although I have no doubt your bidding could indeed be, as you put it, highly salacious and saucy. You would be seducing me into doing all of Ivalice's bidding. And in any case, it wouldn't really be a _seduction_. It'd be more like… using your most alluring qualities to steer me towards doing the proper thing."

There was a long and terrible silence after that, one that Penelo spent mostly clutching at her skull and trying not to let words like "jail bait" and "going to hell" and "scandalous seductress of small Solidor scions" break her completely. He thought... the twelve year old boy everyone was trying to marry her off to wanted her to... the would-be _future emperor of Archadia_ thought she ought to...

But she didn't have any better ideas. And bizarre ethical issues aside, it could buy them both some time. And god only knew that she needed as much of that as she could get to figure out… figure out what to even _do_ here.

"Larsa," Penelo finally said weakly. "Can you promise me one thing before I go and carry out this crazy scheme?"

He leaned forward, looking bushy and bright-eyed and ungodly eager to plot out a few more things.

"Promise me you'll never go as mad as half of Ivalice seems to be and try to take over the world, okay? I'm pretty sure you could have all of the continent under your thumb in about 4.5 seconds if you really put your mind to it."

Rocking back to his feet, Larsa drew out another brilliant smile. "I can very safely promise you that, Penelo. I've never been one for tyranny. Now, would you like me to accompany you to the village of the viera or to stay behind?"

"Please stay behind," Penelo said weakly. "I have a feeling the content coming up ahead is not going to be suitable for minors anyway."

* * *

Before she left, she actually did stop by in Migelo's Sundries with Larsa-- albeit less to give her temporary hostage-cum-house-guest a tour than to hand him off to be someone else's headache for a while. Considering the fact that she was probably due to be in considerable pain soon, Penelo thought the world owed her this much anyway.

To his credit, of course, Larsa seemed to take being left behind in the care of a bangaa very well, even if he did seem startled at first by the fact that her "uncle" wasn't a hume at all.

(All her actual uncles, including the one that had gotten into trouble for practicing inappropriate charms on a chocobo, had been dead for years. Soldiers ran in her family, after all.

…She didn't think she wanted to tell Larsa that anytime soon either.)

By the time Migelo had been introduced to Larsa (who, true to form, had immediately whipped out a heart-rending tale of being a half-Archadian, half-Dalmascan orphan of war that could have reduced even a stone to tears) and had gotten him settled down at the register to observe the cashier at work, Larsa seemed steady enough to be left behind. And though Penelo knew Migelo well enough to know that he'd likely picked up on Larsa's upper-class mannerisms and didn't particularly buy his story, the sly wink her family friend had given her had let her know that he'd keep her houseguest safe until she came by to collect him anyway.

But by the time Penelo was saying goodbye to everyone and promising she'd come back and pick up her friend in a few hours, Larsa still looked concerned for her sake.

"Penelo," he said, just before she left, "will you be all right?"

Despite herself, a sudden vision of the last time someone had angered Ashe flashed through Penelo's mind. If Ashe could do that to someone she had spent so time with, had suffered so much for, after all…

"If I don't make any sudden moves," she finally muttered, "and if Uncle Basch's there to take the brunt of it, I should be just fine."

That didn't seem to do much to lower Larsa's anxiety, which made sense because it hadn't done anything to lower hers at all. Still, he made an attempt to smile at her. "I really do think that she shall listen to reason and give into our request, however. Just… remember to emphasize how your actions will help Dalmasca. I believe that to be the key to persuading the Lady Ashe towards nearly anything."

She had to raise one eyebrow to that. "So do you spend a lot of time trying to think about how to persuade people to do 'nearly anything'?"

Larsa's resulting laugh seemed a tad _too_ nervous. "What in the world could possibly give you that idea? In any case," he hurried on to say, "I do wish you luck in your endeavor. I really have been greatly enjoying my time here with you and with all of Rabanastre itself. If nothing else, been an interesting experience to see the world through your eyes."

"Food and all?" Penelo brightly asked.

"Cuisine included," Larsa said, grinning. "I... I really enjoy being with you, Penelo. I really _esteem_ you. I want you to be..."

Then he took a deep, calming breath, as though to even out his own feelings, before he went on. "I want you to be as happy with me as I am with you, Penelo. Besides peace, that's the dearest hope my heart can conceive."

For a moment, one very strange, stray moment, everything seemed to align properly in Penelo's mind for the first time in days. Because Larsa was looking at her, and looking at her, and looking at her so _sincerely_. And from the color on his face and his parting lips, this was the first entirely true thing he had ever told her. He was being honest about wanting this, about wanting _her_, even if he was much too young for this to be real.

She looked at him and as she looked, she realized that she wasn't nearly as powerless in this as she had thought previously.

"You don't have to respond," he continued bravely. "I just.. wanted you to know that. So you can realize my feelings i are /i sincere and extend beyond mere diplomacy. And you don't have to say anything at all right now, Penelo. I understand what you mean when you say you want to take things slowly. That's… that's perfectly acceptable here."

So she didn't say anything at all. But when she swept him into a hug immediately afterwards, he went as still as a statue for just a moment before he put his own arms around her waist with a great deal of care, as though he was afraid he might break her if he held on too tightly.

Which was more than a little ridiculous, of course, since if there was one thing she wasn't, it was fragile. She wouldn't have survived this long if she was anything like the fainting flower of femininity people kept taking her for. But even as she stroked Larsa's back lightly until he finally relaxed against her, she thought she could let it slide this time.

"Take care of yourself," she whispered, "and please don't give Migelo any trouble. Even if he's a little bit, um, scalier than you're used to, he _is_ awful nice to all of us orphans."

"I promise," Larsa whispered back, chin lightly resting on top of her shoulder. "Even as a ragamuffin, I can assure you of good behavior. Though do be aware that I'll be most put out if you return with so much as a scratch upon your cheek."

She laughed and untangled herself from him. Larsa let her go with a sigh. "Don't worry-- even if worse comes to worse, there are always healing spells. And Uncle Basch _does_ make for a damn good distraction, right?"

"Potion are still more useful," Larsa repeated, forehead wrinkling. "In fact, if you'd like, I can even supply you with quite a few right now. Although that observation about Captain fon Ronserbug does seem astute. He really does tend to sort of... soak up Lady Ashe's excess emotions, doesn't he?"

"Yep," Penelo said, already pawing through his potions pouch. (She didn't have it in her to turn down anything free.) "So here's to hoping she'll take the strum and drang out on him and not _me_."

And when she finally walked away with an arm full of high-potions, they were both smiling.

* * *

Of course, all good things had to end sometime. But when Penelo found herself looking up into the face of the main, mini-skirted menace of their party in the village of the scary Amazon bunny ladies, she did it with an actual _grin_. One that showed off _all_ her teeth.

"Hey Ashe," she said softly, so that the rest of the party behind them couldn't over-hear. "If you've got a minute and actually want to trust me a bit, I think I'm finally ready to cut you a deal…"

* * *

**Author's Note**: Can you believe that it took all of seven chapters before Larsa finally got a hug out of Penelo? At this rate, he'll probably be of legal drinking age before she unwinds enough to give him a peck on the cheek. ;)

As always, I can't promise any sort of continuation to this because I actually do really enjoy this series but writing it takes _so much_ out of me. (I had to draft and re-draft this about three times before I came up with the current version... and I _still_ think it could be better. Somehow. I have no idea how but... somehow. Maybe.) But if I ever feel masochistic enough to start up on Chapter 8... well. Let's just say that Penelo's a little shrewder than the pigtails let on and she's learned more than enough to start driving at a compromise here...

And also, one last question to anyone reading this. What do you think of the budding feelings that Penelo is harboring for Larsa? It's not a physical attraction (the poor kid's still about six inches and sixty pounds from being to Penelo's taste) but it _is_ an emotional and intellectual one. Does it make sense and seem at all realistic? (As opposed to, er, unrealistic and creepy, I suppose.) I mean, I know most normal sixteen year olds (and Penelo _is_ normal, mostly) wouldn't be attracted to someone four years younger than them. But then, Larsa is almost thirteen-going-onto-thirty and it's actually not hard to imagine him being, if anything, the more dynamic partner in most of his relationships, even at so early an age. It's the strange Solidor charm at work, I think...


	9. Chapter 8

Fact 1: Depression can be treated surprisingly well by writing fanfic. Somehow, it's easy to feel better about your life when you're putting (fictional) people through the wringer.

Fact 2: The worse the wringer is, the better (oddly enough) that you feel.

And fact 3: This is for the divine **Sheffiesharpe**. What can I say, I'm in the mood to shower her with shiny things. And also, this chapter might never have been written if not for her excellent new women-centric drabble request post, which kick-started the writing of this like you wouldn't believed.

In any case… questions, comments and criticisms are _very_ much appreciated for this sucker. The politics in this particular chapter are particularly intricate but I have faith they'll pay off in future chapters… And please let me know if you're interested in seeing more of this story! If nothing else, I'm trying to figure out if writing this is worth the brain cells that commit hari kiri with every new plot twist or if I should let it die a peaceful death, once and for all.

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 8**

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Series: Knots, Ties and Tides**

**Characters/Pairings: Larsa/Penelo (...Somewhat), Ashe, Cast**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had no idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

_From the last chapter:_

Of course, all good things had to end sometime. But when Penelo found herself looking up into the face of the main, mini-skirted menace of their party in the village of the scary Amazon bunny ladies, she did it with an actual grin. One that showed off _all_ her teeth.

"Hey Ashe," she said softly, so that the rest of the party behind them couldn't over-hear. "If you've got a minute and actually want to trust me a bit, I think I'm finally ready to cut you a deal…"

* * *

When Penelo had been young, her mother had always told her that, though her brothers might have been taller and stronger and even more gifted in magic than she was, Penelo had been and always would be her mother's brightest child.

To be brutally honest, of course, it wasn't as though Penelo had ever had much competition for the title. Her three elder brothers might have been brave, bold and hardy soldiers indeed but Ulyssi had dropped school at an early age to help the family, Icari had never cared much for reading, writing or 'rithmetic and poor Laerte… well, Penelo wasn't even sure if the youngest of her older brothers had ever learned to count beyond twenty without taking his pants off.

But even when she wasn't being compared to them, Penelo had always known that she had a great deal more going on upstairs than most others expected. After all, when it came to calculating how much her family's magical shop had made in a month or adding up all the receipts they had taken in or deciding just what had to be sold when everyone else was gone…

Or when it came to scraping out a living for herself after the war or bargaining as much as she could with the buyers who had flocked to Migelo's for her presence or sniveling like an idiot to convince a disgusted bangaa hunter she was worthless as bait after all…

Or when it came to figuring out how much money she could trust Vaan with every week or how to stretch the meager budget Migelo gave her to feed the orphans of Lowtown or how to keep herself out of trouble when she danced on the street with very little on…

Well, it didn't really matter if few others seemed to realize that she was good for more than shaking her hips at foreign soldiers and bartering Archadian coins for her charms. _She_ knew she was brighter than she looked and she was perfectly happy to take advantage of _that_ for all that she could from the world around her.

And from the frozen look Ashe had on her face half a second before she jerked her chin up to dismiss the rest of the party from the meeting, it look as though she had fallen into that same trap as well. But from the prematurely calm that came right afterwards, it looked as though Ashe was rethinking her previous position on her subject.

But then, the woman _had_ subsisted on rat meat for the better of two years, had kept herself alive while on the run from an empire, had built herself a rag-tag army almost solely through sheer force of will and had accepted a traitor back into her fold after what even Penelo's kind heart admitted was a rather unbelievable mix-up involving evil twin brothers, fallen kingdoms, handsome princes that strode into battle with strategic holes in their neck armor and far too many pot-holders.

If there was anyone who knew how much strength the seemingly weak had, after all, it was Ashelia B'nargin, fallen royalty of Dalmasca.

And so, when Penelo finally plucked up the courage to tell Ashe that she wanted to cut a deal over this whole marriage business after all, all Ashe really did was look cool and charmed. As though, without even realizing it, Penelo had done her monarch was proud.

"Oh really?" Ashe gently murmured. "I wasn't actually aware that you had enough leverage to, as you say, 'cut a deal' with anyone. But do go on if you'd like... You may still surprise me with your ideas."

And this time, smiling back, Penelo tilted her head. "Yeah, really, you think I could? I was honestly counting on doing that much."

* * *

Ironically enough, if Penelo had to trace back when she had first thought of the idea that was bubbling over like bastardous baking soda in her mind now, she would have to trace it back to no source other than her so-called, once-and-future, he-and-no-other would-be, shouldn't-be, oughn't-be, could-only-be-described-pedophilia-cally suitor.

Not being a total moron, Penelo had known for quite a while that Larsa had, for whatever reason, something of a monstrously deformed crush on her. (And all this before he even had proper hormones, which raised terrible speculations of what he'd actually be driven to do once he managed to acquire some. Sometimes, Penelo had to wonder why it was that the evil gods above loved to torment her.) And she still wasn't sure, of course, what it was that he liked so much about her, though she had already given some thought to coming up with a color coded warning system that could warn her ahead of time whenever Larsa was ready to start wooing her into manic hysteria.

(Blue, she had long since decided, would stand for when Larsa was simply content to sit still and sigh sweetly at her. Green would be for when he started looking as though he was ready to start grabbing at her. Yellow would be for when he actually _did_ grab her. Orange would be for when he was ready to get down on his knees again, scary Solidor powers of persuasion melting whatever resistance she had managed to so far marshal up. And red would stand for the rush of blood that'd probably explode inside her brain and leak out of her ears and eyes if he somehow-- bending all rules of god, man and morons-- somehow managed to get her up onto a marriage altar.)

(And as of yet, Penelo was still trying to find some way to work a shirtless Basch or Balthier into the system. She was pretty sure she could probably bribe Balthier into flashing himself if she ever did become an empress after all… but short of conning Ashe into signing on, she wasn't sure how that could ever be the case with Basch.)

(Not that Penelo was willing to give up, of course. But then, as her mother had always noted, she always I had /I been an ambitious one.)

Larsa's crush wasn't, Penelo was sure, the _main_ reason why she was getting married off to someone who hadn't stopped singing soprano yet by the would-be Queen of Dalmasca. Hell, if she hadn't been there, some other hapless girl would have probably been sacrificed to a lifetime of dealing with kicky purple tights, really ugly butterfly crowns and homicidally coiffed in-laws. And if Penelo actually I knew /I someone she hated enough to swap places with, she'd have tried that route. But she didn't and Vaan, though he very well might deserve this fate, had far too much testosterone and far too little sense to pass muster.

(...Even if she buried Vaan's disturbingly nippleless chest under mounds of Archadian silk or armor.)

(...And sadly enough, she really _had_ given that idea some thought.)

So right now, Penelo was banking her all on the fact that Larsa actually _did_ seem to like her. That he-- horror of prepubescent, non-hormonal horrors-- actually _wanted_ her. That he had eaten the food she had brought for him, slept in the lumpy bed she had given him and dressed in the careworn clothes she had scrounged up. That he always smiled when he first saw her, always seemed happy when he could touch her, and almost always snuck in looks at her whenever he thought she was busy braiding her hair or bargaining for their bread or trying not to bludgeon her brains out at the thought of marrying him in the future.

And most of all, that he seemed to trust her to think the best of him, to do her best by him, to actually treat him as though he was something more than just the demure, delicate, hopelessly fragile little doll everyone in his actual world seem to take him for.

And with that, Penelo squelched the first stirrings of her conscience ruthlessly, stamping on the thing until it twitched like Judge Ghis had after she had set his ridiculously pointy helmet on fire a few times over. In the end, she was doing just what she was doing _because_ she cared about Larsa and wanted him to be more than just a puppet manipulated by the higher-ups in Archadia. Larsa might not like what she was planning _immediately_ but he'd thank her.

Eventually. Someday. Maybe in the far future.

And in the mean-time, she had him to thank for letting I her /I realize that, powerless as she was and as common as her blood might run, she still had a few factors to bargain with in the here and now.

* * *

"In a lot of ways," Penelo began her pitch brightly, "I think you've got just the right idea about what to do with me and Larsa."

Whatever it was that Ashe had been expecting, it had clearly not run along the lines of that statement. Almost despite herself-- since when, after all, did Ashe retreat when she could advance?-- the princess took a step back.

"Not that I am dismayed by this outcome," she said, "but really. I do beg your pardon?"

Penelo took an eager step forward, widening her eyes so much it felt as though the sockets were being strained a lot. A bit of a funny feeling, sure, but people seemed to expect it out of her. "Sure! Of course! With the whole marriage part! I mean, looking back it was sort of stupid of me to have been so upset about it in the first place, huh?"

Ashe looked unconvinced; willing even more false cheer into her voice, Penelo did her best to carry on.

"I mean, here I am, your average, plucky peasant girl with very few opportunities, and you're giving me the chance of a life-time now. Really, what girl my age_doesn't_ dream about getting swept away by a extremely cute little prince to the lap of luxury? Even if he _is_ a little bit... short right now?"

Her interrogator cocked her head. "So you've apparently managed to overcome the height difference and the fact that you are Lord Larsa's elder?"

Penelo willed a blush into her cheeks. "Um, of course! I mean, he's twelve, I'm sixteen, and four years? God, that's like nothing at all. After he turns sixteen, it's not like the difference'll matter. And it's not like I'd do anything all that interesting with my life if I didn't go along with your plans for the future, right? I mean-- you're giving me the chance to be an empress! How could I possibly turn that down?"

The princess still looked mightily suspicious. "I'm grateful you sound so complaint at last. But from what Vaan has told me in the meantime, you appear to have already made a few plans for your future that would conflict with what you seem so eager for now."

When she got her hands on him again, Penelo vowed, she would rip Vaan's nonexistent chest-hairs out. Slowly. Carefully. And Painfully. One. By one. By one. "Oh,_come on_, Ashe. That's just Vaan going on with his crazy talk. I'm not sure he's even figured out what sleeves really are. And we weren't planning on doing anything all that interesting together! Maybe bust a few heads. Maybe collect a few bounties. Maybe go on to become a world-famous lady sky pirate whose tales of daring and devilry would spread throughout all the land with her trusty if slightly mentally stunted partner by her side--"

"You seem," Ashe interrupted dryly, "to have given that alternate future rather a lot of thought."

Penelo flapped her hands frantically and made a noise that would have made Ulyssi, in his champion competitive chocobo egg eating days, proud. "Ppppppppppphhaaaaaat. It's nothing, absolutely nothing, especially when you compare it to being a… queen type person or what not. I mean, who'd want to go ahead and do all those…. those… those incredibly dangerous and ridiculously tough and incredibly unrewarding unless you found some _really_ good bounties type of jobs when you could stay on your rear all day and wear kicky crowns and make lots of flippy-haired babies for Archadia?"

One of Ashe's eyebrows were slowly but surely twitching upwards in her forehead, not unlike a lie detection test being conducted on her skull.

"Especially," Penelo continued on frantically, "especially since-- since-- especially since--"

This was it. Everything hinged on Ashe believing her here. And so, Penelo took a deep breath, counted to three and tried not to think of how hot hell must be during this time of year.

"Especially since I've finally fallen madly in love with dear, sweet, darling little Larsa!"

* * *

There was a sort of long and terrible silence that followed that. In its wake, Penelo could all but hear all the phantom doors in Rabanastre slamming shut and Vaan hustling Kytes away from her in the wake of her confession of creepy, under aged, little boy lust.

"Hmmm," Ashe finally said, sounding rather spectacularly unconvinced. "Is that really the case right now."

"Hey," Penelo said, feeling rather offended, though she didn't know if it was more on behalf of her terrible acting abilities or Larsa's disturbingly coy charms. "He's really not so bad for a boy his age. Why aren't you believing me on this one?"

There went that damn eyebrow again. "Well, there is the fact that Lord Larsa is still three weeks away from thirteen."

"I could be a pedophile!"

"...Though you're under aged yourself, thus negating that definition?"

"The heart wants what the heart wants!"

"Even the fact that he has barely entered puberty has ceased to bother you?"

"Hey, sometimes good things come in small packages!"

"And how could that square with your apparently raging crush on both Captain Fon Ronsenburg and the sky pirate?"

"Look, you leave Fran out of this. And just because I happen to like being the younger one sometimes doesn't mean I can't also want to top!"

But sadly, judging by the ongoing twitch on her forehead Ashe did not appear to be swayed by any of Penelo's brilliant arguments for being the Chester the Molester of Rabanastre so far.

And that was when Penelo realized that she had to default to the only thing she had left-- the only thing that came close to the truth-- and hope it was enough to carry her over.

"Look," she said, and the desperation in her voice was enough to finally _make_ Ashe do it. "Look, I'm not stupid, despite what you might think. And more than anything else in the world, I know who I am and I know_what_ I am and I know why I should want what you want. You know just like I do that I don't really have anything else besides this except, maybe, for Vaan."

It hurt, a little, to admit these things, but Penelo forced herself to go on. "I don't have a real home anymore and everyone in my family is dead-- and even if I'm still living in Rabanastre, we both know I'm living on borrowed time right now. I know how to dance and I know how to sell and I know how to fight and I know how to smile-- and that's it. That's all I can do. Barring a miracle or two, that's all I'm _ever_ going to do in my life.

"I'm not like you, Ashe," Penelo said, and closed her eyes so she couldn't see the inevitable disdain on the princess' face. "I don't have some grand destiny that I know I'm going to eventually live up to or die trying to find. Hell, I'll be lucky if I don't end up taking my clothes off for a living in a few years time. So for god sakes, can't you just believe me if I tell you that I love Larsa? At least enough to make my own life better in the long run?"

She kept her eyes closed for another few minutes, not sure whether she should let her tears flow or pause. But in another moment, she opened them again to see Ashe looking at her with... with...

With any other person, it probably would have been sympathy, empathy, or at least some form of pity. But strange as it was, Penelo knew honest respect when it stared at her right in the face, edged with something not unlike preternatural calm.

"Very well done," Ashe finally said, hands coming together to clap once. "But I'm sensing a _however_ hovering in the midst of all the hysterics you've presented me with now."

She really would, Penelo decided, make a great ruler if she survived this cause.

"_However_," Penelo said obediently, "I'm not sure if making me empress-- at least immediately-- is in Dalmasca's best interests either."

* * *

Look Ashe (Penelo continued on), I know it's one thing for me to not want to marry Larsa just because he's younger than I am and because I don't know him all that well right now. It's just like you said-- these are things I can deal with. He'll grow up. I can grow to like him better.

("I thought," Ashe interrupted, "that you had already convinced yourself that you loved Larsa, mind, body and blood.")

("Erk," Penelo gurgled.)

("Order your story more carefully next time," Ashe murmured without pause.)

But… but… but all these things don't necessarily mean the I politics /I of this will work out! I mean, I'm sure Larsa has already cleared all of this up with his father and guardians and all of that… but I'm not sure Larsa, bright as he is, has really thought about what the _public_ would say about the whole marriage part.

(Ashe looked rather confused by what she meant as well. Clearly, she hadn't really thought this through either.)

Look, I'm sure you know that to a large extent, whenever you've got rulers like your family and Larsa's, you really don't have to think about what nobodies like me think about your business much of the time.

I mean, think about it. We hear outrageous things about what nobles do all the time and nobody really does much besides gossip over it either. I mean, just to give one crazy example, I used to hear that you had some sort of mad fling going on General Vossler all the time when I was younger.

("Lies," Ashe hissed coldly. "My heart has always belonged to Rasler and no other has ever penetrated it-- or any other part-- quite so much.")

("Um," Penelo said, and decided not to mention how close Vossler had always seem to come to tackling Ashe-- at least until Ashe and Basch had both decided that hacking that poor man alive would seem like ever so much fun.)

I'm sure Archadians have seen plenty of scary behavior from Larsa's brother-- nobody could possibly be that rich, that handsome and that egomaniacal without leaving a stream of broken hearts and body parts wherever he went.

("There was," Ashe interrupted thoughtfully, "this one story about him being involved with his chief scientist. Though the man is nearing his sixties, I'm told they seem to be quite closely involved with one another. And as you seem to be proving, age really doesn't always have to matter…"

"Moving on," Penelo said hurriedly, and did just that.)

And what about that one weird prince in Rozarria who started his own Bangaa harem? Hell, if he's got that much love for lizards in his mind, heart and more private areas, that's between him and his ones.

(Ashe looked a combination of impatient, disturbed and intrigued at that last image; Penelo quickly scampered forward.)

So, I mean, I'm sure when it comes to plenty of _private_ things, nobles don't have to justify their actions to the public and the peasantry and whoever else is around them.

But when it comes to something as important and as public as getting married? Especially when you're going to be the ruler of a whole country? And your wife's someone coming straight from hostile enemy territory number 1?

It's like you said… what matters less is how old Larsa is than what his position in Archadia will be in the future. It's down to either him or his brother for Emperor after their father's gone. And if Larsa ends up married to me before then and I end up being unpopular with the public… it wouldn't really matter how much Larsa would want to help Dalmasca, would it? He might not even end up on the throne if everyone hates me enough.

* * *

"I'm still willing," Penelo said, after her long-winded explanation had come and gone, "to get engaged to Larsa if you want, though we should probably keep it hush-hush. But even though I'm just _crazy_ about Larsa, I don't think it's a good idea to get hitched to him… at least until we've got the okay from _everyone_ important in Archadia. Otherwise, how do we know this marriage is really going to help and not hurt Larsa's popularity later on?

"I mean," Penelo said, clasping her hands together and sighing. "How do we even know that whoever suggested this to Larsa didn't do it because they _wanted_ to sabotage him becoming emperor in the future?"

Ashe looked as though she was about to say something but shut her mouth through sheer will power. Shrugging it off, Penelo moved on.

"No," Penelo continued earnestly, letting photogenic tears shimmer in her eyes. "No, the best thing we can do right here is to contact Larsa's guardians. I'm sure they'll know what we should do here-- at least if they're trustworthy. And I'm sure they'd be the first to tell you that maybe Larsa's is rushing things here because he's eager to get… get _something_ from all this. It'll probably take us all years to get the public to accept me as a future empress, right?"

Years, she found herself hoping fervently, that she could maybe use for her own benefit: either to find a blue-blooded substitute bride or maybe flee the country altogether.

"The only thing to do," Penelo summed up triumphantly, "is to wait on this matter. For a very, very, very, very, _very_ long time."

For a very long moment afterwards, Penelo found herself rocking back on her heels, smiling at the thought of her inevitable triumph. But after a minute of Ashe simply eying her clinically, the feeling faded and condensed into a little pit of nervousness near her heart.

"I have to admit," Ashe slowly but carefully said, "that I am very nearly impressed by the plan that you've worked out for yourself. Reluctant though you might be to ascend to nobility, you would do better than many others in the role of deconstructing plots."

"Erm," Penelo muttered. "Thanks. I think. But… you agree with me on the fact that we have to wait until Larsa's ready to become emperor till anything happens, right?"

I would," Ashe slowly but carefully said, "were it not for one singular but indispensable cause."

Penelo drew herself back up, thinking long and hard. Luckily, she had a feeling that this was just the place to use Larsa's good opinion of her. "Do you mean because Larsa might throw a fit for putting our wedding off? I mean... hell, he likes me enough to marry me. I could-- I mean, I'm sure I could... could _somehow_ persuade him that it's a good idea to put it off..."

Even if it meant, as he put it, using her saucy and salacious charms to seduce small Solidor scions. But what the hell. Penelo probably didn't really need to keep her will to live _that_ much.

"For all I know," Ashe snapped, "that could very well be the case. But no, Penelo, what I meant was..."

There was a very long silence. Ashe seemed to be bracing herself to go on, which wasn't something Penelo even thought she was _capable_ of.

And when she finally spit it out, Penelo knew why. And found herself wishing she never had to know at all.

"The main obstacle to your otherwise sensible suggestion is that there _are_ no guardians for you to appeal to in this matter. Though Larsa will need his father's consent to wed, he has chosen to seek forgiveness rather than permission on behalf of Dalmasca's cause. Larsa _himself_ has been the prime architect in this plan to bring about peace through uniting your persons. And if you wish to speak of delaying the inevitable for the sake of his crown, you must speak to your new fiancé of doing so as of now."

* * *

_Author's Note_: I… hope that surprised someone in the audience. Someone. Anyone. I'm not sure it was but at this point, I feel as though I should be happy I managed to even write a new chapter without collapsing. Yay for productive depression, everyone.

In any case, please do let me know if you'd like me to continue this. I'm not sure if I can write another chapter until next year-- both because this story is difficult to write and because of my upcoming wedding-- but I'd really appreciate knowing if I should continue subjecting Penelo to more misery or write something else altogether. ;)


	10. Chapter 9

If I had the sense god gave to a squirrel, I wouldn't be putting this up right now.

For one, I have a feeling nobody's actually in the mood to read fic, it being not so much the holiday season as the season for soul-crushing school projects, tests and papers. Hell, _I_ barely have time for fandom anymore-- I doubt there are many exceptions to that rule floating about. And for another… well, for another, I think anyone actually still keeping up with this fic might want to murder me with a spoon for handing them yet another delaying cliff-hanger. Mea culpa for the excruciatingly slow pace of this, everyone. And if it helps any, you should keep in mind that I'll eventually write the next chapter of this, oh yes I will. It might take some time… say, a month or two, but the prospect of a showdown between my leads is much too juicy to let up.

In any case, this one's for **Threewalls **and**Sheffiesharpe**. The ending scene of this literally couldn't be written without their brilliant input. So, er… at least I'm not the only one to blame for it all? ;)

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 9**

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Series: Knots, Ties and Tides**

**Characters/Pairings: Larsa/Penelo (...Somewhat), Ashe, Migelo, Cast**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had no idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

The rest of her meeting with Ashe passed by in something of a blur. If anyone bothered to ask her later what it had consisted of, she knew that all she'd be able to do to describe it was gesture vaguely into the air and mutter something about marriage contracts and grand betrothal ceremonies and appeasing the masses and receiving help from the Kiltias and and so forth, insert the standard political gibberish here. And to be frankly honest, Penelo was too dazed to absorb anything more than the news that she was now as good as engaged and wed to Larsa, with all the world learning of just what would happen as soon as they secured the Emperor's blessing. Hell, she hadn't even raised a protest when Ashe had said that they really should get all of this settled as soon as possible, giving her a deadline of three more days in Rabanastre before she was married off entirely.

All she could do was stare down at her own hands and watched with distant concern at the horribly silly way they kept shaking. Because it was funny, in a strange sort of way-- just very, very _funny_. Who could have predicted ahead of time that she'd be able to survive and even thrive beyond wars, famines, plagues, invading hordes, judges, bounty hunters and the fruits of Vaan's various dumb-assaries… only to finally find herself at the mercy of someone who hadn't even quite three katanas high?

If you looked at it that way, of course, the situation was very nearly side-splitting.

And in the end, all she had done when Ashe had asked her if she finally felt selfless enough to consent to this arrangement-- this _pre_-arrangement-- was nod shakily and wrap her arms around herself.

It was all but settled at this point. It had been for a while, probably. And with everything depending on her, with everyone looking towards her... was there any answer she could give _but_ yes? Was there anything she could do but follow along?

Nothing besides throttle Larsa, some evil little imp with a suspicious resemblance to the boy himself quietly and persuasively whispered. After all, as long as she left him intact enough to nod his head as they were engaged, what were a few bruises? Or contusions? Or possibly even gunshot wounds either?

And he'd deserve it too, Penelo knew, the hands she'd clenched at her sides still badly trembling. Because in the end, however sweet he had seemed, however caring he had pretended to be, he really _was_ nothing less than a scion of his empire. He was just the same as every other northerner she had ever know, with sweet lies tripping off his lips while he manipulated her with his tongue. At this rate, she'd be lucky if she didn't have his hand jammed up her colon anytime soon, so he could manipulate her like his own personal puppet even better after they hit the wedding alter.

No, she wouldn't put it past that bastard. That goddamn, runty, two-faced little bastard. That horrible little flippy haired, green-booted, silver tongued, wide eyed, perky smiled, manipulative, deceiving, lying, betraying, unbelievably _cunning _son of a filthy imperial--

Penelo knew she didn't have quite enough insulting adjectives in her vocabulary to describe just what she felt about her new intended right here. But oddly enough, she had a feeling that when she next saw her dearly beloved, she might be able to improvise the thrilling feeling she wanted to convey during their next meeting.

But in the end, she knew she wouldn't have even the petty little satisfaction of raising her voice to him. For before she left, Ashe had left her one last warning.

"You are all but a noblewoman of Dalmasca now," her liege murmured, "and I expect you to act as such presently. Whatever wild passions might move you when you are with Lord Larsa-- for the better or for the worst-- I expect you to restrain them. Whatever else you might think him to be, he still holds for us some of the best hopes for Dalmasca's rebuilding. And neither of us can afford to offend him enough to withdraw his offer here."

In other words, Penelo knew, she had best shut up and smile, whatever else Larsa wanted to do with her presently.

"But that doesn't mean I..." And for nearly the first time since Penelo had met her, Ashe seemed almost to hesitate for her words, her usually straight forward eyes downwardly turning. "That doesn't mean I say this to be cruel or unfair to you, Penelo. I have never intended to do such to anyone under my rule. I would that you believe that if I had my free will, I would have spared you from a fate you seem to find so appalling. But as it is now..."

As it was now, the House of Solidor had somehow managed to outmaneuver them both. Just as their empire had always done, they had pressed forward on whatever advantages they could find to have whatever satisfactions they could seek.

"I know," Penelo said quietly, closing her eyes tightly. "I know you meant well. After all, you were right from the very first time we talked about this. There really _isn't_ anything I shouldn't be willing to sacrifice for my friends and my home and my family."

"Yes," Ashe replied, and the eyes that she raised once more were glittering almost feverishly. "And after all, it's not very common that one can sacrifice so little and yet gain so much for so many. If anything, Penelo, you should consider yourself lucky."

* * *

If the meeting she had had with Ashe earlier had felt blurry about the edges, it was nothing compared to what Penelo felt as she found herself striding back to Migelo's Sundries for perhaps the last time ever, her hands fisted at her sides and her hair in short braids bounding off her shoulders and her frantic, fluttering heart lodged somewhere deep inside.

Until now, after all, she wouldn't have even thought it possible for the normal world to feel the way it did currently: as though everything around her were spinning at its edges, reading to fall askew or perhaps even shatter at the slightest touch.

But since everything she'd ever thought about this whole situation had proven to be wrong, maybe it was only natural for her to see the world this way. She had thought Ashe was the main puppet master in this scheme, and she had been wrong. She had thought that she'd prove smart enough and strong enough to evade this fate, and she'd been wrong. She'd even thought that she'd one day be able to take control of her own life and live it the way she wanted and oh god, _oh god_, she'd been completely wrong there.

And most of all…

Most of all, she had thought that Larsa had always been a friend and an innocent in this, no matter what. And in another funny way, finding out that he wasn't any of those things was what made her tremble hardest.

Because he was supposed to have been her _friend_. Her friend, damn it all. He was just supposed to have been her friend, her smart, sweet, gentle, almost ridiculously girlish friend. And it'd be all right if he was more than a little love struck by her, if he thought it was all right to pretend a silly little crush was some sort of grand passion. It'd be all right if he went a little far in playing his feeling out or if he was controlled by his elders in Archadia into going on the insane mission of finding the future mother to his flippy haired babies before they were even a twinkle in his eyes. She wouldn't have been so hurt if he had only been a puppet for others, instead of the one who had knowingly held her strings the entire time.

Because in the end, he was supposed to be someone could have proven her, once and for all, that it didn't need to matter what family he belonged to or what foreign land he had hailed from. And in the end, he was supposed to have been her faith in the future and her hope of Dalmasca healing, no matter what it had gone through because of Archadia in the past. Though she supposed that, with all the hopes this marriage represented, she wasn't fully wrong.

But even if she'd been right about that, she'd been wrong about what kind of person Larsa really was. Hell, maybe she would _never_ fully understand who or _what_ was right and wrong about the boy she'd spend the rest of her life with.

Child or adult, puppet or puppet-master... he could be any or all of these things. When she was with him, she couldn't even trust her senses.

Her thoughts sputtered abruptly, though, when she found herself suddenly walking on loose bits of gravel, instead of the usual streets of Rabanastre. And when she actually turned her head to look around her, instead of marching on blindly while lost in thought, she realized with a sudden shock that she was standing in the middle of her old playground near the heart of her home.

This could be the last time she ever laid her eyes on this place, she knew, and whatever hot anger she had been feeling abruptly died down.

The last time her feet traced the steps her parents had once strolled along or kicked at the same stones her brothers had once played with. The last time her fingers touched the thick metal bars her friends had once taken turns swinging at or traced the dust beneath the rusted gates. The last time she placed her body on the swings she had always loved or that another boy, three months before his death, had once pressed her against before kissing her eager mouth.

_The last time,_ she thought. _The last time, just as myself. Just because of Larsa. Just because of one strange little boy who thinks because he wants me, I owe him--_

There was no reason to cry, Penelo knew. And that was just why she _wasn't_. Because, strange as this was, bizarre as this was, wretchedly _unfair_ as this was, there was absolutely nothing here worth her tears. She was lucky in a way, after all. Lucky to be plucked out of the gutter and all but launched into the stars, even if it was by a trajectory she didn't even know if she wanted to be a part of. She was lucky because-- hell, hadn't she thought before of what accepting Larsa's offer would do for her?

She'd thought of that just before she'd left him to visit Ashe, after all. She'd be lying if she said the idea didn't intrigue her at least as much as it had proved repulsive. And there was no denying that at least a part of her had thought about delaying being crowned royalty just long enough to figure out if that was something she could indeed live with.

And now that she knew she really never had a choice but to accept... Well, there were far worse fates than living a life where you followed the rules and kept your head down and let other people tell you what to do. She'd been living like that all her life. Maybe it was time she accepted it.

So there was no reason to cry, she told herself, knotting her arms around her body once more. Not when she was so lucky. There was absolutely _no_ reason here for tears.

But it was a long time before she could bring herself to cross Migelo's doorstep again, to collect her new fiancé. And even after all was said and done, the thick leather bands around her wrists remained dark and damp for all the hours of the night still left.

* * *

Of course, Migelo being just who he was, he knew just what she must have been doing right before she entered his shop. And Migelo being Migelo once more, he didn't let something as paltry as being technically cold-blooded, covered in scales and sporting a tail about as long as Penelo's entire body keep him from immediately clucking over her like a mummy chocobo tending to her young.

Somehow, only a few minutes after she entered, Penelo found herself seated in the comfiest and warmest of his store rooms, a mug of steaming chocolate being pressed into her hands, a completely unnecessary blanket being draped around her body and a giant lizard patting her on the head, as though to keep it level on her shoulders. And, smiling ruefully, she found herself drinking the chocolate, shrugging off the blanket, signing in relief that the "newest clerk" had been exhausted by a busy day's work that he had already fallen asleep in the back rooms and giggling half-hearted at Migelo's antics, more or less at the same time. And when Migelo shook his snout the eighth time in a row at her in concern, all she could do was wanly smile.

After all, this could be one of the last times she'd ever saw him as well. After all, from what Larsa had told her, she doubted that any Bangaa, no matter how highly they might be regarded in Rabanastre, would be welcome in Archadia's capital.

And after it was all over and done with and Migelo's clawed hands were gently tapping on the table they were sitting at-- a clear sign that he was worried but didn't want to show it, not that it would escape her anyway-- Penelo knew just what he'd want to know now.

"If I asked you," Migelo finally said, "what this was all about, child, would you actually answer true?"

Fingers still around her hot chocolate mug, Penelo could feel her eyes blurring again and felt stupid and ridiculous, even more so than the fool Larsa had already made of her. "No. I'm sorry but I can't. Not really. Though I'm sure you'll learn about it soon enough."

Migelo's rough, work-scarred scales gently guided Penelo's face till it met his sad, sky blue one once more. "Bah! You sound like you're talking about a death in the family. It can't be so bad if you're still here and still speaking, can it now?"

"That's not true," Penelo said shakily. "It absolutely can be. Especially when you've got everyone breathing down your neck to do something involving little boys that you really, really, _really_ don't want."

This being an exceptionally juicy piece of gossip-- the sort that all Rabanastrans thrived on-- Penelo could all but see Migelo's snout snorting in shock. "Should I start fearing for poor Kytes around now?"

Despite herself, Penelo couldn't help but giggle, feeling some of the tension slough off at the thought. "Nah. Not really. If anything, it's our little guest's hide that you should be concerned about me getting my hands on."

Her old friend guffawed. "The one that kept trying to convince me that he really _wasn't_ nobility from Archadia? And that he absolutely _needed_ to know everything he could about you in order to sell every single potion we had in stock?"

She just snorted. "I'm sure. You didn't give anything away did you, Migelo?"

He just smiled that hilariously wide giant lizard smile at her. It was the sort of warm, strange, and patently amazing smile you could only stop taking for granted once it was on the verge of being gone. "No, of course not. Not that I needed to. Strange though that boy may have been, he was a charmer. Managed to sell out practically every single x-potion he had left, just by batting his eyelashes. If you don't come back to the store soon, Penelo, I might just have a new Number One Sales Associate in Rabanastre on my hands."

Despite herself and her new appreciation of Larsa's cunning, Penelo found herself sputtering in surprise once more. Because it wasn't enough that he had first out-plotted her. Or even that later on, he had somehow managed to out-dance her. No, now he was even _out-selling_ her. Larsa really _was_ willing to strip her of everything she had before he shanghai'd her off to his home, wasn't he?

What would be next-- her title as the best inventory person Migelo's Sundries had? Oh, the inhumanity of it all!

"He was also surprisingly good at ordering what goods the shop needed next," Migelo continue thoughtfully. "You should tell that young man that if he doesn't have any other plans, I could always use a head like his at the store. I mean," he added apologetically, "now that you're not around and all."

"Somehow," Penelo managed through gritted teeth, "I don't think that's in his future dance-card. But I'll let you know if his plans change anytime soon. After all, shop clerk is probably one of the _least_ destructive jobs he could hold in the future."

And then, not able to stand it any more, Penelo founds herself rising from her chair and automatically moving towards the exits, her hands fisting at her sides once again while her feet marched to a martial beat beneath them both. And when even Migelo, concerned as he was, didn't make a move to stop her, Penelo knew she really _must_ look like she had murder on her mind.

"Tell our little guest," Penelo said coldly, "that he can find me anytime he wants. Whether that'd be good for his own health though... well. That I'll leave for _him _to judge."

* * *

She woke up the next morning to the tentative feel of fingers in her hair, to the light touch of calloused thumbs against her scalp.

For a minute, try thought she might, Penelo could not quite remember where on earth she was. The last memory she could conjure up was of walking the streets of Rabanastre by herself, grim and gray and groggy with a pint of rot-gut that she had managed to steal away from... god, she couldn't even remember what. Hell, she wasn't even sure-- and here she was fighting off a deep shudder-- she even _wanted_ to remember what.

But now she was in bed, still dressed in yesterday's outfit and covered in today's blankets, with a dulling hang-over already settling down on her and clogging up all of her thoughts. And some distant part of her knew she should probably be getting up right now, probably bathing and dressing and pasting on a happy face before she could go find Larsa again and pretend to be thrilled at the fact that he had completely rearranged her life without so much as a pause.

But she felt too tired, much too tired, to even picture doing these things. So for now, all she did was close her eyes and lean gently into the hands that were touching her hair so gently, so easily and so kindly. Touching her as though she were someone precious, someone delicate. Maybe even someone worth saving.

No hume had touched her like that since her parents and her brothers had died, though Migelo had done his best to serve as her new family. Even Vaan, after a while, had learned to keep his distance, to act as though he was too tough to ever need anybody. And to her surprise, Penelo found tears springing to her eyes at the thought of being loved like that again, that simply and sincerely.

She really had to stop getting damp over everything, she thought, smiling a little into her pillow. If she didn't, she'd turn into a human hosepipe eventually and then there'd go all of Ashe's plans for her future.

But for now... maybe it wasn't so bad, lying here in her bed with her eyes closed and her mind very nearly at ease, simply lying back and enjoying the feel of gentle fingers in her hair once more, combing and caressing...

And then the mouth attached to the hands began to speak and Penelo's eyes snapped open and saw that, joy of joy of perfect joys, what she'd been dreading had come to her already.

"Good morning," the future emperor of Archadia said to her, hovering next her shyly and keeping his eyes demurely down. "Are you ready for breakfast, my lady intended? If I have predicted Lady Ashe's whims correctly, we have perhaps three more days in Rabanastre... and so many possible ways to spend them presently."

* * *

For a perilously long moment, Penelo's mind automatically snapped into Faster Pennycat Kill Kill mode, while she contemplated just how many ways there were to strangle, spindle or miscellaneously mutilate everyone's favorite tiny manipulative bastard. But after discretely wiping her eyes and taking a deep breath (in with the spiritual peace! out with the homicidal mania!) she managed to steady herself enough to speak.

"Morning to you too. How'd you know that much?"

Right now, there was a healthy chasm of about six inches between their two bodies, with Larsa apparently having had to extend his arm out to… to _pet_ her while she was dozing, or whatever else the creepy, manipulative jerk had tried to do to her in her sleep. Personally, Penelo would have much rather preferred being separated from him by six feet or six miles or even six separate territories… but at this point, she knew she had to be grateful for whatever buffer she had.

But terrifying enough, Larsa inched just a little bit closer to her at that, his smile widening further. "If I told you a little bird had informed me, as a friend of mine would say, would you take it as information enough?"

It was a struggle not to respond to that by asking Larsa if telling him to fall ass over kettle into the nearest gaping chasm would also be information enough. "No," Penelo finally gritted through a smile so false it hurt her teeth. "I'd really _love_ to hear just how."

Larsa smiled far more sincerely and scooched another horrifying centimeter nearer, prompting Penelo into cowering to her bed sheets. "Ah! I've always admired that curiosity of yours, did you know? And in this case, you may trace my source of information to nothing less than the randomization of all the possibilities that politics might yet yield."

Still huddled, Penelo could only blink blindly at him. "...Say _what_?"

If anything, Larsa just looked _more_ pleased at her blank face and more willing to encroach on her personal space. Penelo watched with wide eyes as yet another valuable inch between them was lost. "I mean to say that I guessed at the outcome based on my personal observations of the Lady Ashe's thought patterns. Apparently, she detests taking too long to make a decision. Dangle bait long enough in front of her and she shall snap to it as of short."

"Not," he added hastily as Penelo's eyebrows raised upward, "to disparage the Lady Ashe's thinking or behavior. I do still believe her very dedicate to peace, despite her... occasionally warlike proclivities. She merely strikes me as a bit..."

"Nutty?" Penelo suggested, trying to fold herself into her sheets like syrup being swirled into pancake batter. "Batty? Screwy? Psycho? Rabidly and terrifyingly kill-happy?"

"Unorthodox," Larsa concluded smoothly, his knees crossing another fearful inch towards his new fiancé. "Not that I fault her for being so, it having brought us to where we are now."

Right now, there were only about three blessed inches of free space between them. If he came any closer, it'd be Archadia encroaching into precious Dalmascan territory once more. And sadly enough, it didn't seem as though her nation would have any more luck this time either.

All of a sudden, trying to breath in the inner peace somehow became a lot harder.

"Right," Penelo said and if she had been a better actress, she probably could have kept the thread of sarcasm and rage from coloring her voice, strong enough to curdle chocobo spit. "Of course. I'm sure that's absolutely the only reason we're about going to get married right now."

Larsa stopped for a second at that-- but only for a second's time. "I beg your pardon?"

Think happy thoughts, Penelo told herself, still clutching her blankets to her like they were her maiden virtue. It was like Ashe said-- Dalmasca had more to lose in this than Archadia did and Larsa-- _Lord_ Larsa-- had to be kept happy at all costs. "Nothing, Larsa. It's nothing. Don't... don't worry about it that too much here."

But if Penelo knew nothing else about Larsa-- and right now, she was fine with admitting that she really _didn't_ know anything-- she knew that he was probably the most ridiculously curious person she'd ever encountered. Even Vaan, with his stupid mania for breaking and entering the worst places at the worst time possible, thus _landing_ her into this stupid mess, wasn't as much of a pest when a mystery was around.

"It's when people try and tell me not to worry," he said mournfully, "that the_real_ troubles always mount. Penelo, how..." And he hesitated here, his eyes sliding curiously down the humongous length of bunched blankets. "How exactly did Lady Ashe break the news of our betrothal to you? She _did_ let you decide on it before she told you of our engagement, did she not?"

Chocobos, Penelo thought haplessly. Fuzzy wuzzy adorable just-hatched chocobos of the sort that always seemed to hatch Uncle Mortimer's feathery and widowed bride. "Not really. She just... told me that I was more or less engaged to you. I didn't really get the chance to decide on anything much. It was pretty much a 'shake your head yes if you love your country and no if you're an ungrateful wretch that would willing let people suffer for your own selfishness' sort of thing."

"Hmmmm," Larsa said, tilting his head. "That _is_ a real pity. I had actually arranged it with her to allow you have some time to think of the matter. Since you probably didn't know much about the politics of arranged marriages, I thought it would be better for everyone involved if you felt this was something you decided on for yourself. Which--" And here he paused to flash a smile that made the blankets she was shrinking under seem terribly flimsy-- "isn't even so very far from the truth, honestly."

Babies, Penelo thought desperately. Sweet cute fat little babies, with those chubby little cheeks she'd always liked. "That... that was nice of you, to give me time to adjust to the idea. Really. That was... thoughtful."

"Yes," he said, beaming, "I thought so too. Most noble marriages wouldn't have had such accommodations. But then, most noble marriages wouldn't have had the advantage of having a bride as radiant as you."

Basch, Penelo thought in one last stab at rational thinking, her hands clenching hard on her mattress. With his hair wet and his chest bare because of a dip he had taken in the deepest lake nearby because she had "accidentally" thrown in a valuable magical scroll and needed someone as strong and as strapping as Ashe's guardian to slowly and carefully fish it out. "I... I guess you could see it that way."

"Yes," Larsa said again, eyes shining and lips parting and cheeks flushing as his knees inching forward just a little more, may god help them _all_. "Yes I can. Yes I do. Considering how many ways this could have gone wrong... we really _are_ very lucky in our circumstances, aren't we?"

His eyes were still shining when she threw her blankets aside to breach the single inch that their bodies were still separated by. His lips were still parting when Penelo brought herself closer. And his cheeks were flaming an even deeper shade of red when Penelo twisted her fingers into his shirt's coarse collar, pulling him close to her in a way only one other boy had ever been.

But as soon as she used her new-found leverage to lift Larsa off his feet and slam his entire body against the wall next to her bed, he didn't look quite so enchanted by what could come next. Fascinating, wasn't it, how that worked?

"That depends," Penelo snarled, "on just how you plan to get _lucky_."

* * *

**Author's Note**: Though it might be breaking the fourth wall, I feel as though I should come right out and declare that, Penelo's hysterical denial to the contrary, Larsa pretty much _is_ a teenager at this point. (Being 3 weeks from 13 is close enough, right?) I have to admit that it's a bit of a change from my earlier plans, yes... but I can promise you that writing and reading him this way will be a hell of a lot more _fun_. If also significantly more traumatizing in the long run.

...Poor Penelo. Poor, _poor_ Penelo. And, in the next part, even poorer _Larsa_. ;)

And before anyone lays it on me for having Larsa be incredibly creepy with the touching-Penelo-while-she's-sleeping-thing… well, _yes_. I'm pretty sure it's patently impossible to have Vayne Solidor as a brother and be well-adjusted at the same time. Not to mention, Larsa's always been more than a little touch-starved in his daily life. Who the hell could possibly hug him in Archades-- the giant, mobile suits of armor that always address him by his title or his psychopathic and kill-happy family? He's going a bit overboard with Penelo, yes, but keep in mind that he's still thrilled at the thought of socially acceptable physical contact with another human being. He'll scale back soon enough… at least if Penelo's throttling leaves any effect!

Also since I'm planning on laying out _most_ of Larsa's motivations on the line in the next chapter, I just wanted to ask what my readers think drives him before hand and reward the first person who gets it perfectly right with a little something. ;) Just why do _you_ (my current and no doubt very patient reader) think Larsa is pushing for a marriage at a ridiculously early age? And what exactly do you think attracts him to Penelo in the first place?


	11. Chapter 10

There are certain fics that you want to write. There are certain fics that you'd love to write. And then there are those certain special fics that you _need_ to write, lest the fact that you haven't finished them up-- even during the special hell that is finals week-- drive you absolutely insane.

This chapter of Knots was all of the above but especially the last. It didn't matter how busy I am now-- this long-awaited chapter just leapt up in my mind and_demanded_ it be written immediately. And in any case, this is for the wonderfully funny and insightful **Kilraaj**, who really helped me a great deal with her discussion on the last chapter. I hope this distracts you as much as you need, dear heart.

And as always… I know this time of the year is hellishly busy for us all but I'd really love, adore and cherish any reviews, comments and criticisms for this chapter. Every little discussion helps to motivate me for the next part of this, y'know? ;)

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 10**

**Fandom: Final Fantasy XII**

**Series: Knots, Ties and Tides**

**Characters/Pairings: Larsa/Penelo (...Somewhat), Ashe, Vayne, Cast**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had no idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

_From the last chapter:_

His eyes were still shining when she threw her blankets aside to breach the single inch that their bodies were still separated by. His lips were still parting when Penelo brought herself closer. And his cheeks were flaming an even deeper shade of red when Penelo twisted her fingers into his shirt's coarse collar, pulling him close to her in a way only one other boy had ever been.

But as soon as she used her new-found leverage to lift Larsa off his feet and slam his entire body against the wall next to her bed, he didn't look quite so enchanted by what could come next. Fascinating, wasn't it, how that worked?

"That depends," Penelo snarled, "on just how you plan to get _lucky_."

* * *

For a very long minute after her last words, all Penelo could do was clench her fingers against Larsa's collar and take short, quick, shallow breaths, feeling completely unnerved at her own daring.

It had never been a secret, after all, that when she needed to be, she could turn violent easily. She'd known of how strong she could potentially be since the age of seven, when her brothers had taken her out on the plains of the Estersand and given Penelo her first weapon to take out her first ferocious little monster. Fighting and clawing, kicking and screaming-- she was more than capable of holding her own in the battle field when she needed to. Dalmasca wasn't the sort of land to harbor many social niceties and even the most well bred woman around knew how to defend themselves, Ashe being a prime example.

But… but until now, she hadn't known that she could do this to someone so much frailer than her, someone so young, even if he was so cunning. When she fought, she tended to fight against either unequivocally evil monsters or even worse terrors that were, to a man, almost always significantly bigger than she was. And Larsa just looked so small trapped beneath her, his still rounded face so shocked and still because of her actions, his ungloved hands clutching at the blankets beneath them both…

Oh god, she could hurt him so much right now. And she didn't want to, not really. Not even if he deserved this and more.

But then Larsa took his own deep breath and began to speak and Penelo remembered just why she had thought it a dandy idea to assault the next ascending emperor of Archadia in the first place after all.

"Penelo," Larsa whispered delicately beneath her grip, "are you doing this because you are already experiencing your 'special time of the month' and are in need of relief from the uterine cramping that you might be undergoing now?"

Despite her own past thoughts, she let out a sound like a tea kettle angered to the point of madness. And wincing visibly but looking far less scared than he really should, Larsa went smoothly. "Because if you are, I understand all too well. Even Drace becomes a little… unnerving when it visits her. Trust that if this is the case, I shan't blame you in the least. I have studied human anatomy in some detail in preparation for this, you must realize. And just the pain from the shedding of the endometrium lining alone…

"Although," he added after a minute, cheeks flushing again when Penelo's death-grip on him didn't relax in the least, "I really would appreciate it if you could release me. Although… I mean… although if you _really_ wanted, I suppose perhaps we…"

That did the trick, as he had probably known it would. Shuddering, she let go of him and scrambled off her bed altogether, her skin already crawling. Knowing_her_ luck, the runty little jerk probably thought she was overcome by passion or something equally disgusting. Ugh. She'd much rather go romp around with the overgrown lizard on the Westersand than think about doing that anytime within the next decade, if ever.

But unfortunately, if the bright, mellow voice floating through her room was any indication, she wasn't going to be given a choice in the matter. "So if you have your flow after all, I suppose you wouldn't want to contend with any more vigorous activity for the next five days or so?"

He sounded, terrifyingly enough, more disappointed than anything else, as though he had honestly thought that his every square inch of pasty, under-developed flesh was enough to make her cheer at the thought of going dancing again. And on top of every other miserable minute she'd spent since she'd met him-- being knocked around by the judges of _his_ empire, being jerked to and fro because of _his_ schemes, having her life completely tossed upside down because of _his_ absolutely insane ideas of how to go about wooing someone-- this served as the summon that finally broke the esper's back.

"No," Penelo said, and could barely recognize the voice echoing in her ears. "No, I don't. And don't tell me you can't figure out a reason why, more than anything else, I'd much rather _strangle_ you than do any thing else."

For a minute, there was only a shocked stillness behind her, a sudden suspension of noise, a sound like the wind whimpering. But in another, Larsa had darted before her, with that same surprising speed he had shown before, his eyes alight on her face.

"Penelo," he said, and he sounded heartbreakingly young. "Forgive me for not understanding. Are you by any chance _upset_ with me as of now?"

The question was so absurd that, for a minute, Penelo was afraid she might have started laughing. But that passed quickly and after she found she was still gasping half-heartedly for air instead, she found her voice again. "I don't know, Larsa," she said, her voice jerking despite herself. "I don't think I know _anything_ anymore. Why don't you tell _me_ what you think's going on?"

Larsa's eyes narrowed, a delicate contracting of his lids that made Penelo's jaw clench even more. "You are acting most indiscreetly, my lady. Grasping at me, looking at me that way, telling me these things and… and why _are_ you acting this way? Is something the matter other than your cycle? I mean, I have never seen you…"

This stung. She didn't know why it did but it did. "Never seen me _what_?" she snapped, almost before she could control her speech. "Try not to have a break-down in front of a twelve year old twerp?"

And _that_ seemed to have stung _him_, if the slight moue curling up his lips meant anything. "I meant I have never seen you acting so childishly before. I never even knew you had within you that capacity."

Oh God. The twelve year old that wanted to marry her thought _she_ was the one acting childishly. It felt almost like a farce but she didn't feel up to laughing much.

"Oh dear," she cooed instead. "I'm sorry I disappointed you _so_ much. But the world's funny that way. There are all _sorts_ of people who pretend to be something they're not and then turn around and spin something else."

He just blinked hard at her, looking warily at her. "I have no idea what you're implying, Penelo."

And if this hadn't been happening to her, she could have laughed and laugh. "Not even in Jahara?" she said, her fingers already curling up.

Strangely, Larsa just flinched at that, as though she had reached out to strike him again, instead of keeping her hands folded around her back in an effort to hide the stupid way they tremlbed. But he spoke instead and when he spoke, it sounded as though _he_ was trying to hide as well.

"I… I suppose I've might know of what you speak of. In Jahara, when the Lady Ashe and I were speaking of the future… In Jahara, we spoke of what could happen within the empire before I ascended and what… what another man might do to Rabanastre in the time to come--"

He spoke as though he thought this was something she should know about, as though she should truly _care_ about it either. But she didn't, she really _didn't_-- not about his words, not about his worlds-- maybe not even about him anymore either.

"In Jahara," she said, and her voice ran high at the name. "In Jahara, where you met Ashe and decided you wanted me enough to bribe her."

"What?" Larsa interrupted, his own voice pitching up. "My lady, what could you mean--"

"In Jahara," she continued and her hands kept shaking. But she wouldn't stop. She wouldn't stop for anything in the world. "In Jahara, when you just swooped into my life and decided that you could use me. That because I was pretty and because I owed you, you could take whatever you wanted from me for your own Empire. In Jahara, where you met up with Ashe and bought me. Where you found you wanted to-- to--"

The shock on Larsa's face that came afterwards left her perversely pleased. And if she had really had been a good person, a kind person-- hell, even a decent person, she could have stopped right there.

But she wanted to _hurt_ him now, hurt him _badly_, dig into him and leave behind something that would make him scar the way she felt like she was already doing. And so she measured out her words and continued on.

"You really aren't just a boy now, are you? It doesn't matter how old you are, you think enough like a man to act like one already. And it doesn't matter how much of a prince you think you're being. In the end, you're just like everyone else. You just want what all the other men in my life seem to want from me as well."

"I can't believe," Larsa said at last, and his voice was a shaky, birdish thing. "I can't believe you could ever truly see me as capable of doing such a caddish thing. I can't believe you could think my feelings so perverse and my affections as springing from so base a foundation."

Funny how the urge to keep laughing kept coming and going. Funny enough for her sides to hurt. "Well, feel free to believe just that, _darling_. You broke it, you bought it, you own it, you got it. You wanted me and now I'm yours and yours alone."

Seemingly despite himself, Larsa's cheeks pinked at that. But when he spoke, his voice still sounded hurt. "I don't even know what set this off on you, Penelo. I thought you would be _pleased_ by all the arrangements I made for you. But not to worry. In only two more days-- one even-- we'll be heading towards Mount Bur Omisace. And once we are there, you shall see--"

He didn't get it. He_still_ didn't get it. He just couldn't see--

"Well, how the _hell_ did you figure _that_ one out?" she asked, and her voice was rising to something like a scream. "Was it when I told you I didn't really think of you as husband material? Or where I told you I wanted more time to think this over? Or even when I told you that we were just friends?!"

"I took all that into consideration," he said quietly. "And after we were married, I will think of that even more."

His eyes were on her but his jaw was clenched and his hands were demurely folded and somehow, Penelo knew he still wasn't _looking_ her clearly.

"What can I do to make it more clear, Larsa?" she asked one last time. "Strip off all my clothes and paint "I DON'T LIKE YOU THAT WAY" all over my tits? Is that the one part of me you're actually interested in seeing now?"

At least he was reacting now, reacting with something other than the aristocratic-calm-in-front-of-peasant-rebellion act that he seemed to have mastered already. "_No_," he snapped, bottom lip already curling up. "None of that should be necessary to make your point. I don't need to witness anything that… philistine from you now."

"Then," she said, and she was finally laughing in between her words. "Then you really should have thought some more about this 'getting engaged to the gutter punk' thing, Larsa. Because you'll eventually be seeing a whole lot more of me soon!"

And _now_ he sounded exasperated. " I know that perfectly well, Penelo. That is _why_ I wanted to marry you!"

"But," she continued, and she was still gasping and half-laughing, " I'm somehow still supposed to think you were thinking with the head on_top_ of your shoulders, not the smaller one down below?" (At least he had the decency to flinch at that.) "And that it didn't mean anything at all when Ashe told me she couldn't delay marrying me off because you wanted me so goddamn desperately--"

And his eyes snapped to hers at that and finally, _finally_, he was looking at her directly.

"Wait a moment," he said, and he sounded so much like what Penelo had heard of his brother that it was almost eerie. "Pushing past your… your overacted hysterics, is that what you were doing when you met with Lady Ashe previously? Trying to delay our marriage-- if not negate it completely?"

"Seriously," Penelo replied, and felt utterly dumbfounded again. "Is this honestly_surprising_ you? Are you planning on being amazed the next time I point out that the sky is blue, the trees are pretty and you're still about six inches and sixty pounds from being someone I'd jump into bed with anytime soon?"

He flinched but wouldn't stop going. "You wanted to do more than merely give us more time to enjoy ourselves in Rabanastre."

And suddenly, the breath felt like it was being stolen from her lungs. "Because we're having a barrel of goddamn _laughs_ right now?"

"You were trying to manipulate Lady Ashe just as much as I was." His voice sounded flat and drained of all color. Like his brother's younger copy, aged before his time.

And she wasn't nervous, she wasn't, she _couldn't_. "…And? So what if I was? You're the one who started the whole thing!"

"And you…" Larsa almost looked as though _he_ was about to start laughing. "You prolonged it further for your own benefits. Or tried to, anyway. You approached Lady Ashe on your own in order to try and enact your own schemes, didn't you? You said you didn't want me there in case there was an altercation but in reality…"

And she couldn't be afraid of him; she felt much too _angry_. "Shut up, Larsa! Just… shut up. I don't want to hear any more. I don't even want to _talk_ to you right now!"

"You are just as manipulative as I am, Penelo," he whispered, and suddenly his voice was almost too near her ears, so soft and so unnervingly close. "You would like to believe yourself something different, something so much more moral and so unsuited to the political life… but I don't know that I believe that myself. You are not so very different than I, no matter what it is that you like to pretend to b--"

And he probably would have gone on to say more but the way the palm of her hand connected against his cheek-- hard enough to make him stagger, to send him sprawling upon her bed completely-- cut him off quite efficiently.

"Don't you dare--" And her voice was a sprawling and uncontrolled thing. "Don't ever say anything like that to me!"

And he was holding his hand against his cheek, looking hurt and scared and nervous and angry... he was just a child, just a boy, and he didn't deserve this sort of thing, no matter what he did to those around him...

And she should apologize but she didn't have the breath for it, the apology or the humility. She needed to keep speaking, to justify herself. She wasn't what he thought she was. She didn't fit into his world at all, no matter what he might think.

"I'm not you. I'm nothing like you! I wouldn't have done anything that you did here! I wouldn't have just strolled into someone's life and pretended I knew someone enough to decide to rearrange everything. I wouldn't have changed their entire world on a whim. I would have _asked_ them first. I'm _not you_ and I'm not planning to be either!"

"Oh?" Larsa interrupted, and if he was a child, he didn't sound like one then, no matter how pitiful a shape he made currently. "You wouldn't have tried to influence someone's life like I did? Just as you asked me first before you went to Lady Ashe to find a way to apparently dissolve our union before it had even begun?"

Her words caught in her throat at that; still holding his hand to his face but now rising, Larsa's voice continued with her still caught completely.

"Just as--" And he looked so goddamn _upset_-- "You would now have me relinquish you without even giving me room to speak?"

She forced her voice low, forced her hands behind her back again in case they betrayed her once more. "I'm capable of making guess, Larsa. I'm not nearly as stupid as you think. You want me because… because we met in Bhujerba and you thought I was pretty and you knew Ashe would come to know me and you wanted peace for Archadia and you thought you could control me. It's just a crush, Larsa. And you can't do this in the mean-time. There are other girls you'll like eventually and other ways to find peace than just--"

"You still--" And his face twisted up with something like anger. "You still don't understand the real reason for any of this."

Well, there went _her_ attempt at calm. "Well, you never asked me about mine either!"

"I was thinking of the benefits that marrying me would hold for you!" he shouted. "No more having to scrape up a living. No more having to worry about making ends meet. No more having to ever bow down to anyone beneath you…"

Amazing, how his voice could go from sounding so upset to so conciliatory, even seductive, in just another second. Amazing-- but she wasn't going to be fooled for a single second here.

"No more having to make any decisions for myself," she replied grimly. "No more having to live my own life. No more having to see my own friends. No more learning to be an independent person or dreaming any of my own dreams."

Larsa's eyes narrowed. "I am doing my best to be kind to you, Penelo. Why must you make this such a difficult thing?"

"Do you..." And her hands kept _shaking_, goddamnit, _shaking_. "…Do you really think just because you're not torturing me or locking me up, you can't possibly hurt me?"

There was a long silence after that, a long moment where Penelo could not trust herself to even open her eyes, lest she embarrass herself hideously. But when she looked up, Larsa's head was lowered and she could not see his face for his hair but the hands in his lap were shaking.

"I was..." Even his voice seemed to tremble. "I wasn't trying to do that. I wanted to help you. I wanted to be good to you. I didn't mean…"

And she closed her eyes again and let him explain. She wanted to know-- she needed to know-- what was going on here.

"All my life," Larsa began, and his voice still sounded lost and weak. "All my life, this is what I was taught to do. If I found something I truly wanted, something my empire truly _needed_, I was meant to conquer it completely. This is what my family and my mother country would have me do-- would _command_ me to. I am not the second-in-line to the throne of Archadia merely because I'm my father's son, Penelo. I'm second because I know how to do what I've done now. I merely won here because I knew how to do it better than you."

"Tell me you're not proud," she said, quietly, in the silence that came afterwards. "Tell me you're at least not happy about what you're doing to me."

"I'm not proud," he whispered, and she had to bite her lip to keep her eyes closed. She didn't need to see him to understand his voice. "I'm merely doing what I was always meant to here."

"Taking advantage of innocent people?"

"That's half the definition of a political rule," Larsa replied, and beyond the hurt on the surface of his voice, there was something darker and harder still.

She had to put her hands in front of her face, never mind the trembling. "That doesn't meant it should be."

"But it is," he whispered. "It always has been. And if you think my life has been somehow charmed merely because I am the son of an emperor, you don't know how very wrong you are. If you don't think I haven't suffered too..."

And now her hands were falling from her face and her eyes were snapping open and her voice was rising.

"Oh yeah, fat lot of suffering you must have done living in a palace all your life, Larsa! I'm sure you must have suffered a _lot_ after foreign troops came and took over your city and killed off all your family. I'm sure it must have been really awful for you to live as an orphan in a conquered city, not sure if you could keep a roof over your head or take care of your friends or even get enough to eat. And the worst thing must have been even thinking of eventually standing on a street corner if you couldn't find any other work, hoping you'd be pretty enough and old enough for someone to use as a gil-girl-- or, even more, hoping you _wouldn't_ be! Oh, you probably suffered a great deal because of your own country."

"I know I haven't!" Larsa shouted, and his voice sounded just as foreign as it ought to be. "I haven't suffered nearly as much as you. And I'm sorry for it all, I truly am. I am trying to make amends for all that now."

"How?!" She shouted back. "By forcing me to _marry_ you?"

And he was climbing back on his feet now, shaky though he had been, and Penelo was reminded once more that he wasn't of her kind, he wasn't of her sort-- he was an aristocrat, he was a blue-blood-- he was a prince of half the known world. He was the son of an emperor and the brother of a conqueror and if she hadn't been feeling out of her element already, he was certainly demonstrating why she should.

"By incorporating the spilled blood of common Dalmasca into the Solidor family line," he murmured, and his voice was sweet and throaty and taut. "By proving that the reign I will institute in the future will be a different one for us all. By showing the world that Archadia will no longer participate in such terrible atrocities, not for all the power imaginable. By proving that the two of us-- that we can create a better world, one where such conflicts will forever cease!"

She didn't know how to respond to that; she didn't even known if she was expected to do so.

And if the look on Larsa's face meant anything as he came forward meant anything, perhaps she didn't want to either.

"By making the future a far better place than the past we will discard forever. The two of us, Penelo… we can change the world. We can change the future. We can recreate everything before us… if only you could give me the leave."

She almost wished she could just backhand him again and have this over and done with. "I… I don't…"

"It has to be of your choice," he whispered, and somehow, without her realizing it, had claimed her hand once more. "Of you and you alone. The Lady Ashe would never consent to let her blood flow within the confines of a foreign power, to be potentially misused in the future. And of course I had to act on this in my own initiative. Even my own guardians would never give me leave to act in this manner, even to secure a throne."

" …Why?" She whispered, still lost. "Why wouldn't they want you to find peace for us all?"

"Too many of them are still content to live in a past where Archadia holds reign over everything, unwilling to see that such a singular future will be our doom in the making. Did Lady Ashe tell you that I was acting as a free agent in this matter of arranging a marital tie and a treaty?"

Penelo bit her lip so hard it nearly bled. "She did. She told me a lot. Especially that you were the one planning everything all along."

Larsa took a quick breath. "I was. You still appear angry."

Her mouth twisted despite herself. "You don't think I have the right to be, despite the way you've been jerking me around on a wild goose chase? Trying to find someone to talk to so this whole thing could have gone away?"

He laughed in a hollow sort of way. "The only one who could possibly do that now is my brother, since even my father has taken to giving me leave to manage what I must. He knows I must garner some experience for what is to come."

Despite herself, Penelo shuddered. "I don't think I'm ready to have an audience with your brother anytime soon, Larsa."

His voice softened. "No. No one truly can be. And I haven't been trying to 'jerk you around,' Penelo-- merely establish my own independence. I've long since broken away from the desires of my guardians and family. If I were to follow their way, I wouldn't even be helping Dalmasca find sovereignty again. If anything, I'd merely be delaying the war against Rozarria and allowing future carnage to reign freely."

She took her hand back from him quietly, Larsa reluctantly letting her go. "Oh. I… oh. I… I guess I understand where you're coming from."

When he spoke next, his voice sounded angry, though she had to admit she didn't know if it was more because of her words or the way she had withdrawn. "No, Penelo. I don't think you do. Admit it-- you still think I suffer not in these circumstances, do you?"

But whatever it was, there was little else who could have said that would have made her angrier. "Well, I'm sorry you're going through so much, Larsa. But it's not like you lost anybody in this war!"

When his mouth jerked around like that, she knew enough to know she'd scored a hit. But when his eyes jerked back to her face, she also knew enough to be ashamed of herself.

"Oh, not yet, I haven't. At least, I haven't if you overlook the matter of my two eldest brothers who were slaughtered in wars before. Or my mother, who died mysteriously in her bed, hours after giving birth to me. Or my father, who shall likely keel over from his illness in the next few years, leaving his station for a potential civil war. Or my last lord brother, who my most ardent supporters wish to eliminate from the bloodline completely. But other than that, why no, I haven't been touched by _any_ family tragedies at all."

If he had stopped there, it would have been enough to make Penelo blush, stutter, ask him to forgive her after all. But he continued on, his voice winding higher and slower, quicker and faster, as though trying to _force_ understanding into her.

"And it isn't as though I face a life I do not wish to lead either. It isn't as though I shall soon be placed on a throne because of an accident of fate and, once there, be forced to marry some noble blooded woman who I know nothing of, want nothing to do with but who has nonetheless been plucked out of obscurity for me."

Her lips parted at that but she couldn't even think of what words to say, how to whisper she hadn't even thought of that, of how-- how horrible--

"And it isn't as though I ever saw any other alternatives to this cycle of royalty, to this endless and station of being a noble. It isn't as though I ever met another girl in my first real journey away from home... a girl who made me think that perhaps I didn't have to resign myself completely to a life I didn't want to live, to a fate I didn't want to wield."

And there was nothing to say, what _could_ she say, except that he had to be wrong--

"And it isn't as though I could possibly be old enough to love a woman in full... even if many believe me capable of ruling the greatest empire in the world."

And her eyes closed and she couldn't speak, she couldn't think, she couldn't act at all--

"And if isn't as though you ever thought to ask me not only if but _why_ I love you."

And there was a silence in the space of a few dozen heart-beats, a silence uncontaminated by words. And in the silence she could hear Larsa rise and pause, his fingers fiddling first with the rough edges of his borrowed clothes before they reached out towards her. And now he was touching her again, in the soft, uncertain way he had played with her hair earlier even before she had awoke. He touched her with the care a blind man would have, like a child who had forgotten how to care for someone or who had never properly learned. He touched her as though she were something truly precious and she should turn away already--

"I don't care if you don't believe me," he whispered, still shyly touching the unruly curls around her face, the soft curves of her cheeks. "I don't even care if you curse me or jeer me or eventually wish to leave me to myself. Merely… please don't ask me to let go of either you or peace just yet. Don't force me give up on this hope of having you both."

And then there was silence and the sound of his uncertain breath in that space, as though he was trembling and trying to stop himself and unable to help it either. And then his fingers lightly came up to frame his face and she could hear him go on the edges of his feet, his lips brushing against the tip of her nose…

"Please don't tell me this is forbidden. Please don't tell me that I've no hope--"

"Stop," Penelo whispered, and it wasn't a statement or a plea but a promise, one born of the magic in her veins, of the power upon her lips. And even before the spell took ahold of Larsa fully, she was turning and running, the force still at the tips of her fingers tingling but unable to contend with her hopes and fears.

* * *

**Author's Note**: So… does everyone feel this is enough of an explanation of Larsa's motivations? Does him wanting to get married right now to a girl he barely knows-- despite how clearly awful an idea it is-- make sense to you? Or should I perhaps think of penning a Larsa POV side-story? Please advise, dear readers/lj-cut 


	12. Question and Compass

Somehow, I think 2008 is shaping up to be the year of extremely off-the-wall writing experiments for me. That is, at least, the only reason I could think of to explain why I tried writing a story about Vayne Solidor that involved him having, of all things, _a screwball sense of humor._ And which is meant to be, strangest of all, not entirely facetious either. I suppose _that's_ what makes this piece actually interesting-- and possibly what completely doomed it as well.

But in any case, this is the second side-story for the Knots, Ties and Tides, one that's meant to fill in the gaps about just why Larsa is the well-meaning but devious manipulator that he is, though it also works as a stand-alone. And it's for **ravynstoneabbey**. Happy birthday, darling, and I hope you enjoy!

(BTW, this is my last fic up for a bit. Pray for me-- school starts on Tuesday and I've got a fearsome workload…)

* * *

**Title: Question and Compass  
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII  
Series: Knots, Ties and Tides  
Characters/Pairings: Vayne and Larsa, Mentions of Drace, Gabranth, Gramis, Other Judges  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: When Larsa raises an interesting question, his brother always has an even better answer.**

* * *

You know, Larsa, when you first came to my room to speak of a 'matter of the utmost importance,' as Judge Magister Gabranth explained, I had no idea it would be one of… _this_ particular nature.

Well… I suppose I really shouldn't be so surprised. Even among those of our pedigree, you've always been precocious. You were toddling about at seven months, reading a little before two and all but ruling your nursery with a velvet glove before you had quite mastered the toilet. And furthermore, I suppose I should have realized that Judge Magister Gabranth would be the sort to pass on the torch when it comes to a matter such as this. God only knows what he'll do to fob off responsibility when you arrive at the age of _real_ trouble.

(Which, if you're still curious, isn't anywhere near your present age. Don't start raising your eyebrows at me just _yet_, little brother.)

But curiosity-- as well as fate's odd sense of humor-- forces me to ask this, though I can't even _begin_ imagine an understandable answer.

Why on earth, Larsa, do you believe it's time to try and unravel the mystery of what appeals to women most?

True, I shall give you that trying to understand the peculiar ways of Judge Drace might have instigated the question in the first. It probably does make superficial sense to try and understand the inner workings of the closest thing I've ever met to a pit-bull with a downward enclosure. But trust me, Larsa, you would be better off learning of the mindset of_actual_ pit-bulls rather than of hume females if you'd like to learn more about subverting Her Honor. She may _appear_ of normal origins but I'm quite convinced that she has a bale of black ice where her heart ought to be and origins that are not of this earth. Any woman that would turn a prince down simply for the chance to tackle a few extra inches of sweaty foreign...

…Forgive me, Larsa. I really have to insist on you never mentioning the last three seconds of our conversation forevermore. Not that anything that can be said about your nurse maid should alarm you unduly, of course. I don't know if you've realized it, Larsa, but the Judge Magisters under our command, valorous though they might be, tend to have some very… _peculiar_ flaws. Zecht has an insatiable passion for pink pantaloons, Ghis lives to cultivate increasingly vertical coiffures, Gabranth twitches every time you mention family ties-- be sure to ask about his brother soon, Larsa, and compare him to yours-- and as for Judge Bergan…

…Well, we shan't speak of what happened to turn Judge Bergan the way he is now, Larsa. It would be terribly rude and not the sort of incident that we can respectably gossip about in public anyhow.

(Though really, he should have known better than to have leaped at the chance to avoid a ball by testing safety measures for the Draklor Labs. I hear they had to replace half the ceilings in the place altogether afterwards.)

Really, Judge Zargabaath is probably the most normal of the lot. And considering his passion for a man who wears pink pantaloons in private…

…Pardon. For your own sake, please forget the last seven seconds of that as well.

And Larsa, you cannot evade me forever. There is to be another reason for the question that you shan't speak of directly to me, isn't there? I know you are young yet but are you perhaps… interested in a specimen of womankind yourself?

Hmmm. Begging your pardon, my little lord. I had no idea the idea would offend you so. But I suppose when I was your age, I thought little girls were also prone to being exceedingly 'icky' and perpetually 'cross' as well.

(Or perhaps that was merely early exposure to Judge Drace at work.)

And no, I promise you, I wasn't laughing. That was merely a hiccup gone wrong.

But Larsa… Larsa, you know you can tell me anything that crops up in your mind, anything that might cross your path, anything that in the least impacts your world. You already know I would never so much as raise my voice to you, yes? I swear, I could never laugh at any of your ambitions, no matter how those beneath us might snigger.

We're men of the world, you and I. All that we do, we'll eventually do together.

And… oh. Larsa. _Oh._ I had no idea you were thinking more on my behalf than of your own.

And little brother… I have no idea what to say, except perhaps words of thanks for your kind offer. But Larsa, you do not actually need to scour the world to find a bride that would finally make me happy. Did you really suppose having another family could bring me any more joy than you already do?

There is nothing, I promise you, _nothing_ that could give my life more meaning than helping you grow. And if I seem a bit… preoccupied as of late, there is no blame that can be laid on your shoulders. There is so much in this world, Larsa, that men of our stature must pay heed to for the sake of our stations. When you are grown and when you have troubles of your own, you shall understand it all a bit more.

And little brother, there's still so much you don't know. For instance, kind though your ambitions were, the question of matrimony has _already_ been settled for me.

Larsa, I was already married once before.

No, don't be alarmed. It only makes sense that you would not remember or even be informed. It was brief, it was unhappy and it was all but extinguished three years after you were born. And yes, Larsa, I _did_ marry fairly young. It isn't uncommon-- our own father also married at 15, though his first wife toppled off shortly afterward. Though you wrinkle so at the thought, there are reasons for marrying so young. Excellent proposals can come at any time of life and if your bride should be older than you and ripe for the plucking-- well, best not to miss what opportunities come.

…And when I say 'ripe for the plucking,' Larsa, no orchards are actively involved, though god only knows that would make the whole torturous process easier. We refer to that sort of phrase as an innuendo-- one phrase that masks another. I'll explain it more thoroughly as soon as you are… hmm, let me think… exactly twice the age you are now.

No pouting, Larsa. We've already discussed boundaries. You simply aren't old enough to understand that sort of term yet, not at only seven years old.

(You _are_ still merely seven years old, yes, Larsa? I suppose even you couldn't magically flower into adolescence overnight… I believe. Pray. Hope.)

In any case, my wife was… well, she was what she was. She shall be akin to what your wife will be as well, Larsa: blue-blooded, finely-bred and probably rather horsey-looking as well, though I very much hope that _your_ wife will have a finer temper. Avoiding marriage to anyone related to the royal line of Dalmasca would probably help a great deal.

Best not to enquire after details, Larsa. Merely be grateful that the current heiress of Dalmasca will soon enough to Nabradia's headache, not ours. She's thankfully half a decade your senior and is already said to have the ability to castrate a man at twenty paces, as her generals have likely already learned.

And there is no need to worry in any case, or to frown so. In fact, I promise you that I'll assure you a wife that pleases you , even if it comes down to me picking one for you myself. Not that any of this even matters yet. Young though royal brides and grooms can be, I have yet to hear of a boy-- pardon-- _man_ of House Solidor married off at the age of 7. There are years enough for you to live a life unhindered by a wife. I advise you to cherish both the rhyme and the time while it's possible.

And I suppose there is no use delaying the end of this story, sordid though it might seem for us all. We married and we were wed for two years before we realized that… well. That there wasn't really any reason _to_ be married, at least on my end. There was no real reason to stay with her after, especially after relationships with Dalmasca broke.

The truth is, Larsa, that I _cannot_ have children and, therefore, no true marriage either. My wife and I could never give rise to any daughters and my sons… both of my sons died, the first right before and the second shortly after their births.

And no, Larsa, no. There's no reason to be the least bit unhappy at the thought. They are all in a better place now, a place where they shan't have to face any of the ugliness of our world.

_You_ are still here, of course, and you must not even entertain thoughts of leaving any of us behind. But fate had a different route in mind for them... and considering the mess that could have ensued, perhaps the gods chose the kindest path overall.

Their passing was a tragedy, yes. But Larsa… think now of how well you must rule now that you realize how much we need you. There are no other heirs and if you can use the thought of your dear nephews as a reason for strength, then even their sad deaths can serve a noble cause.

You see, Larsa, a good ruler-- a _just_ ruler-- is one who looks first and foremost toward the welfare of their people. And in Archadia, a good ruler of the Solidor line must engender sons that are strong and wise, just as our lord father has done. I cannot carry on in this regard so you must look forward to doing so even more.

It _is_ rather ironic, isn't it? You came to me to learn of the workings of women for my sake and instead, we've come to see why you need to know so for yourself. Indeed, Larsa, though you are young yet, you have had the right idea all this time. It probably is best that you devote further study to understanding more of people altogether.

Learning the subtle art of enticing others is something any lord worth his title must know. Learning of history and geography and ways to perpetuate mathematical enchantment means nothing if you cannot persuade others to follow your lead as well.

It is simply so important, Larsa, to learn how to gently press your will towards those who cannot know any better. You will never meet any outside our circle that will know what you know, that can match your abilities well. Simply put, there will be few, if any, people you will ever meet that will have your consequence or your intelligence.

But of course, the best way to deal with them is to never let them fully know of both.

And learning how to properly court a woman _is_ a valuable skill, however silly it might seem at present. I know being a manly man at your age seems to have more to do with other men than with women… but that shall change, I promise you. In fact, I've no doubt that as soon as your age reaches that of duplicate digits, you shall rather gladly go about rescuing beautiful damsels in distress at every corner.

Yes, as well as any hero in a story book! We had best start polishing your suit of armor as soon as possible. And to do so, it might be best for you to find a subject to practice it on as well.

…Although I must admit I am a little dubious about Judge Drace serving as your first area of practice. From long and painful experience, I can assure you that she is _not_ a woman to trifle with. Especially where nannas are concerned.

Apparently, she did not find shedding desert animals appearing in her bedroom to be a very romantic gesture. But who could have possibly guessed that from her perpetually demure demeanor? I merely thought that gifting her with something that matched her own stubbornness would be both whimsical and playful.

And thank you, Larsa. I have no idea why she burst into such a fury when she saw it either. I thought it a most appropriate offering also.

But at present, it would probably best to stay away from her when practicing your budding skills. I don't suppose crones know much of love anyway and in any case, I would be more than happy to serve as your adviser in this. I believe I know just a _little_ more of the workings of a courtship than she does. I'm not sure anything better than a bangaa's beak has breached her inner chambers for at least a decade, if not longer.

Yes, little brother, that _was_ another example of innuendo. But no, I _shan't_ tell you exactly what it refers to... at least until your voice has dropped an octave or four with a corresponding height-wards surge up.

And you needn't bother trying to conspire with Judge Gabranth to understand more. He always reports back to me eventually, after all.

But perhaps most importantly... Larsa, you shall remember to keep this between the two of us, shan't you? It would grieve me most dearly to learn of you failing me in this manner. You will remember to keep your word for me, no?

Shhh. I understand now. And you needn't protest so. Larsa, I promise, I was merely jesting. I never doubted you for even the briefest spell.

And Larsa… strange though it may, I really am glad we have had this talk. I cannot pretend that I was not initially nonplussed by the topic… but the paths we've found stemming from it will only serve us all. You are coming ever and ever closer to the man you will be, little brother, and simply watching you take these first steps makes me proud.

I shan't risk any more children, Larsa, and our lord father is far too old and infirm to hope for another miracle of your caliber. No, you remain the only hope of the future budding of our family-- of our line and our empire both. For all our sakes, you must always strive for the best you can-- to be the badge of our house, the coin of our realm, the bright fruit of our bitter flowers.

Such a burden to put on such small shoulders, I know.

But somehow, despite all the troubles that beset us, I know you shall do well. 

* * *

**Author's Note**: When I set out to try and give Vayne Solidor an actual sense of humor, I had no idea it would turn out this way. I'm not sure I'm entirely pleased with the end result either. So if it's okay, I'd love to get some feedback on the following questions. **(And please only answer those you'd like to answer, if any!)**

1) Was this Vayne appealing? Interesting? A good fit for a cameo (or better) in Knots in the future? (I wanted to keep him creepy and devious but also let him have a sly sense of humor. The all important banter would be missing otherwise!)  
2) Did this Vayne seem to have a realistic and loving (if still very self-promoting) relationship with his younger brother? Does it make sense to have Larsa love and look for this Vayne?  
3) Does it seem as though a few years of "learning" lessons like this would lead to the frankly very manipulative and short-sighted Larsa we see in Chapter 10?

Depending on the answers, I might or might not deep-six this experimental side-story for Knots. Thanks so much for the help, everyone! And as always, I really do appreciate feedback-- I wouldn't have the motivation of writing if I didn't have such kind folks cheering me on.


	13. Chapter 11

  
Finally, hallelujah and amen, I'm finished with this wretched chapter. It was endless, it was aggravating and I have bothered many, many fine folks in writing this; this was practically fic as written by committee! **logistikanyx**, **ladyvenn**, **kilraaj**, **sarasacat**, **sheffiesharpe**-- these are the principal people who kindly suffered my silly hang-wringing. And yet, the irony is that in the end, this chapter ended up completely shifting from what I think any of us expected which is... either delightful or maddening. Maybe both, really. 

But in any case, I'm glad this speed-bump of a chapter is finally finished; annoying as it was to write (and I was while writing it!), it's rather important to the series and, if nothing else, the fun can resume after this. And this is for **adore184**. Happy Valentines Day and (extremely belated) birthday, darling! ♥

As always, comments and criticism is love. I'll (hopefully) be posting up the next chapter in a week or so and then probably shelving this series for a bit. (I want to go poke at Drace-fic some more. Never let it be said that I'm not one to kick a woman when she's down.) I figure the least I can do is write in a better cliff-hanger than this before I go. ;)

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 11  
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII  
Series: Knots, Ties and Tides  
Characters/Pairings: Larsa/Penelo, Cast  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had no idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...**

* * *

Penelo moved in auto-pilot at first, her body feeling just as mechanical to her as any of the airships that Vaan had ever wanted could be. She walked, she ran, she tumbled along-- and somehow, though she barely realized how, the ground beneath her feet gradually changed from cobble-stone to dirt, from brush to silt, until finally she was all but swaying at the yielding sand at her feet. She fought the entire way through, almost without knowing it, her axe migrating from her back to her hands and then back again without any apparent effort, striking down whatever moved before her without her needing to consciously realize what she was doing. And almost before she knew it, she found herself on a beach she had been too all too often before, miles away from where she had began and leagues away from where she wanted to be.

She was on a pretty stretch of beach along the Nebra river, she realized with a shuddering pulse at her throat. A beautiful stretch of beach bereft of anyone else, where there were too many memories lurking amidst the soft yellow sand and cool blue water and the palm leaves that swayed with the sea breeze.

_Ulysse_, she thought, and her numb fingers let go of the handle of the weapon in her hand, slowly but surely. _Icari. Laerte. You used to take me here to train me to fight, to show me what to do if you couldn't come back from your wars, like you already knew what was coming. I used to walk here with all of you here, sand under my feet and hands tugging my hair and you never let me forget I was your little sister and I won't, I can't, I promise not to be…_

For a minute, she thought she might still be successful, might still be able to imprint the memories she wanted over the ones she couldn't stand anymore, the ones that only flooded her in the worst of her dreams. Counting to three and taking deep breaths, she closed her eyes and turned her mind away. _Ulysse. Icari. Laerte. Ulysse, Icari, Laerte. Ulysse,-Icari-Laerte_-- and if she just focused hard enough on them, recited their names faster--

_Don't forget me either_, something still whispered within her. _Don't forget who I was for you. Don't forget what I can still do to you. Don't think you can leave me behind for anything._

And she was sinking down without even knowing it, her legs feeling as limp as the sand beneath her, her knees like the reflection of knees within the blue waters, unused and unreal.

_Don't,_ something insidious in her mind whispered. _Don't forget him, don't rewrite the past, don't think that just because he's dead and gone, he can't find ways of making you feel…_

But she didn't need any reminders of that, not from her mind or any other place. She already knew that the past had a way of digging into people, no matter how many barriers they put up between themselves and others, no matter how bright a face they could turn towards the world silently watching.

It was just as her father used to say. The past wasn't dead. It wasn't even truly the past. It always found ways to slide into the present as well, if the way Larsa had looked at her right before she had run from him had meant anything.

Looking at the hope in Larsa's eyes was just like seeing herself from just two years earlier. Fractured and ever the fool, thinking love was enough to make her happy.

She'd wanted someone once the way Larsa wanted her now, after all. She'd been young and small and straight-backed and stubborn, thinking that if only she held onto something long enough, argued for it hard enough, could only prove to be _good_ enough, the person that she'd love would also just… just...

_[You know why I have to do this. You know I can't stay here._

Just topple into her arms eventually.

_[But I'm sorry, Penelo, I really am._

It had taken her years but she'd eventually learned already that if someone didn't love you, there was nothing you could do to make them change their mind. There was nothing else you could do to make them _feel._

_[I'm so goddamn sorry._

But 12 was too young to learn that kind of lesson. Even she had been 14.

And she felt like a hunted animal crouching in the sand now, as though the very air around her were choking her with a thousand little indecisions materializing out of the desert wind, a thousand little ways the world around her was contracting and restricting.

Did Larsa feel this way sometimes? Did he turn also turn a false face towards the world out of sheer need? Even in the high sphere that he lived in, in that magical floating world where there was no need to worry about where you'd scrounge up your next meal or how you could scrape up extra gil from customers, was it possible to worry?

_You still don't understand the real reason for any of this,_ he had said, his voice tight and his eyes blurred. And had he been right when he had said told her such a thing?

What did she really know about him anyway? Fourth son of the Emperor of Archadia, spoiled and pampered prince who was clearly used to getting his way, conniving little aristocrat who thought that just because she was a peasant girl, she'd naturally topple over into _his_ arms just because he beckoned with promises of wealth and a titling…

_[I'm not proud-- I'm merely doing what I was always meant to here--_

No, _no_, she couldn't let her anger get in the way here. She couldn't _afford_ to make any more mistakes. He had _said_ he was sorry and the least she could do was take _that_ at face value-- and hope it wasn't completely a lie. That was the only slender thread of hope she had in this god-awful Gordian knot of a situation here. That was the only thing that could lead her to save herself here.

That was probably the only thing that let her take a deep breath and try to think clearly. She had no hope of finding a way out of this if she couldn't figure him out, understand his plans more, understand what he wanted her to do before she could-- she could--

God, she didn't know _what_ she could possibly do here. What could she even possibly hope to do? What could he be planning?

_[The two of us, Penelo… we can change the world. We can change the future. We can recreate everything before us… if only you could give me the leave._

All pretty words in a speech, of course-- until a person realized it meant leaving all the world they had ever known for a foreign place, a _terrifying_ empire-- a strange, war-mongering land where the death of a father meant a battle for the throne and the madness of a brother meant a native war and where little boys who hadn't even grown into their voices could be set on the path to tyranny. And if she had loved Larsa the way he wanted her to love him, maybe she could have taken that risk of ruling that place anyway. Maybe she could have walked into this situation willingly, instead of being dragged along kicking and screaming. Maybe she could have come to understand what she was being asked to do, instead of being ambushed by in the dark by strange politics. Maybe--

Her mind stuttered over those last few words, skipping back quickly.

If she had loved him the way he wanted her to love him.

_If_ she--

_[I wasn't trying to do that. I wanted to help you. I wanted to be good to you. I didn't mean…_

--_loved_ him--

_[And if isn't as though you ever thought to ask me not only if but why I love you._

--the way he _wanted_ her to love him--

_[…a girl who made me think that perhaps I didn't have to resign myself completely to a life I didn't want to live…_

--what would Larsa do then?

What could _she_?

...What would she do if only she could _think_ like him, act like him, take _advantage_ of others like him-- be ruthless and keep her own interests in mind, hoping he'd eventually see the wisdom of her ways?

If she could pretend to love Larsa, pretend to fall _in_ love with him, or even just give him the hope of one day having her love him… what bargains could she make with him, just for that hope? How many ways could Dalmasca be helped before she could find a way to make him fall out of love with her, or just part from him peacefully?

If they were even married for just a year and engaged for even more before… would that be enough to secure Dalmasca the ties it needed with Archadia? Would that be enough for Ashe to find someone else to take her place-- someone prettier, maybe, with more royal blood and better manners and just-- just somebody that could interest Larsa more, eventually?

He'd get tired of her, of course-- he had to. Someone else had before and that more people would do so in the future. And when he grew up and started seeing more of the world-- and, more to the point, more of the girls _in_ the world-- he'd have to start getting annoyed at getting married so early. No one could possibly ask them to have children while they were young-- god, she _prayed_ no one would expect them to start having flippy haired heirs young-- and even his own advisors would probably start pointing him towards women more suited to rule by his side than the street rat that had been picked as a political compromise. Hell, knowing how kinky royals tended to be, he'd probably eventually run off to establish a viera harem or what have you, leaving her with just enough freedom to run off and become the first Empress-turned-lady-sky-pirate or whatever else she pleased.

After all, she knew she was cute in a girl-the-next-hovel-over sort of way… but frankly speaking, she didn't have _anything_ on your average eight foot tall Amazon bunny woman who could effortlessly wear armored lingerie to battles and who had legs that stretched roughly from Ambervale to Archades. She used to feel terribly bitter about it but hell—maybe being stumpy enough to blend in with the scenery in the village of the bunny ladies could finally work to her _advantage_ here.

Not that she was about to lie to herself. She was going to hurt Larsa. She _knew_ she was going to hurt him. She was done with deluding herself. She was going to be honest here.

She just... had to hope that someday, he'd find someone better, someone brighter, someone sweeter, someone nobler.

Someone who'd make him realize what a lucky escape she was really offering when she left him completely.

Still though. Still. It was still hard for her understand what on earth could have driven him to want her so much in the first place, what drove him to make the plans he had. She didn't have any reason to doubt that a marriage between the future emperor of Archadia and a representative of Dalmasca would help an alliance between their countries-- but he seemed too eager for it to be merely-- or even just mostly-- a matter of passionless politics, a simple arrangement made between noble bodies for the greater sake of a country.

He had all but told her he had loved her. He had clearly fought for her already.

And all she could do was think of how lonely Larsa must be to want to do what he was trying to do. And all she could do was wonder what had driven him to do what he did so desperately, to try to keep a friend by forcing her to marry, to get so strangely _attached_ to the first decent-looking damsel in distress he had met over-seas…

Did Larsa _like_ the fact that she was being put under his debt here? That she _had_ to remain with him, instead of leaving him whenever she pleased?

And if he did... God, she couldn't imagine how cut off from ordinary affection Larsa must be.

_[And if you think my life has been somehow charmed merely because I am the son of an emperor..._

His mother dead. His father dying. His brother going mad with power and increasingly prone to destroying whole kingdoms for… for Shemhazai only knew what, really. And his guardians, all of whom apparently thought he was much too young to venture on his own but somehow old enough to have the entire fate of his empire fall onto his thin shoulders as soon as his father's life fell away quickly…

_[But other than that, why no, I haven't been touched by any family tragedies._

And the way he touched her, as though the feel of skin against skin was foreign to him, as though just a simple hug was enough to completely take his breath away completely. As though it had been years since someone had so much as taken his hand in their own or stroked his hair or-- or-- or _anything._

Life must be so completely strange in that high, towering world he lived in, Penelo realized, her heart sinking like a stone inside her breast, her knees once again trembling. So strange and so uncontrollable and so utterly, terribly cut off from everything he apparently wanted it to be.

_[And it isn't as though I face a life I do not wish to lead..._

But she could use that, she knew all too well. If she could bring herself to do it, she could use it all up completely.

It had been done to her before, after all. Twice, in fact, already.

She knew how it all went from here.

And just before she sealed her plan and her fate, she remembered one last thing Larsa had told her.

_[You are not so very different than I, no matter what it is that you like to pretend to be…_

"I know," she whispered softly, though she knew no one could possibly hear. "And I'm sorry, Larsa, I'm really, really sorry."

Her heart felt like a stone in her throat, like a cage at her breast, like a scale with all the weight of the world pressing upon it dearly.

"I don't want to do this but I don't know what else I _can_ do. And I'm so goddamn sorry."

* * *

She'd cried a bit more after that, feeling more like a heartless bitch than ever, feeling young and cheap and stupid. She still worked as she cried, of course-- if the Archadian occupation had taught her nothing else, at least it had taught her how to gather driftwood with salt in her eyes, how to whittle sharp sticks with a wobbling chin, how to slaughter and then clean whatever sharp-fanged fish she could find with a face already gone red and puffy. She'd long since learned that real life didn't stop just for a minor break-down or even pause at the sound of someone's life collapsing. And she'd still been crying when she finally got down to the business of starting a fire spell on the finally dried wood she had gathered and started hysterically giggling when she realized that her blurry eyes were pretty damn counter-productive to the effort and this was how Larsa finally found her-- stuck half-way between laughter and tears, not quite sure what to feel.

He approached her solemnly from the front, rather than the side, the sound of his foot-steps rousing her from her fit though she didn't so much as move. "Hello," he finally said when he grew close enough so that she could hear his every whisper "How are you currently doing?"

It took her a minute before she could speak properly. For a long time, all she could do was open her mouth and then close it quickly, lest she start the whole cycle of hysterical blubbering all over again, as though she really _was_ a human hose-pipe half-given over to giggling. But finally, after wiping her face with the cracked back of her hands, she managed a reply.

"I don't know, Larsa," she softly croaked. "You think you could hazard a guess here?"

As far as witty rejoinders went, it wasn't the sort of thing that'd trouble Balthier's sleep anytime soon. But Larsa actually laughed at that-- a shocked little gasp of laugh that made him seem precisely as old as he desperately didn't want to be. And when she turned to look at him, she had to gasp too.

If she had thought she was a mess, it was only because she hadn't compared herself to Larsa yet. She might have been blotchy and puffy and swollen in only places that didn't particularly _need_ any more swelling… but at least _she_ didn't look like her entire body had been seemingly been painted black and blue by a one-armed stroke victim given to hallucinations of artistic grandeur.

He was favoring his left leg, which meant the right was at least banged up quite well, and there were scrapes, cuts and bruises on him from forehead to fingertips. His face looked completely wind chapped, there were splotches of blood on the collar of his shirt, and the hem of his over-long shirt looked as though it had been gnawed on by something _particularly_ nasty.

But somehow, all of that seemed to pale in comparison to the bruise still left on his cheek.

"Right then," Larsa whispered, attempting a half-hearted smile. "I suppose I walked into that one, really."

"After being walked _on_ by what else?" she asked, shock making her voice run high. "A tumor-ridden, six-legged slaven? By the flaming rear of Belias, Larsa, what the hell _happened_ here?"

He smiled self-consciously, one hand moving to clasp the back of his neck. "Do you mean before or after you were done with me?"

Suddenly, she couldn't stand looking at him the way he was anymore-- with his bruises and his blood and his tired-looking bones, with his skinny legs looking as though they were minutes away from collapsing. And it didn't help, of course, to know that she'd been the reason for all of that-- she and her _complete_ stupidity.

She'd been the one to throw him around and spell him into immobility and send him on a wild goose chase in the desert, running into who only knows what sort of fiends, just to find her sorry rear sobbing like a ninny near a stump. She'd been the one who couldn't just say no to his offer in the first place, hoping she could spare him the pain she was going to give anyway. She'd been the one who had been completely ambushed by all the strange politics swirling around her-- and even if he was responsible for most of them, he was only 12 and he was painfully, almost terrifyingly lonely, and she must have done _something_ to lead him on, to make him think he wanted... whatever it was that he thought she could be…

She'd hurt him before and unless he backed away now, she'd do it again thoroughly.

Only one thing left to do, she thought, resigned to the task. Though she supposed it was nice to know that being friends with the biggest twit in all of Ivalice would come in handy eventually.

"Come on then," she said, her voice suddenly calmer than it had been in the last few hours. "I'm not Vaan's best friend for no good reason. I can already tell that patching this up's gonna take some elbow grease."

* * *

It took her almost half an hour to clean Larsa up after that. Compared to some of the scrapes that _certain_ other residents of Rabanastre tended to get into, Larsa's injuries weren't all _that_ terrible-- his wounds were mostly superficial and between her natural talent at healing and his array of potions (spirited from god knows where and Penelo wasn't quite sure she wanted to know either), his wounds were dealt with easily. The only real reason healing him this way had taken upwards of thirty minutes had been because she had wanted to take her time in patching him up while he had (for once) exercised actual tact and pretended not to notice her tears.

Given all the things she'd already put him through, she knew the least she could do was treat him gently. Though honestly, she wouldn't put it past the little schemer to deliberately stagger around looking as cute and helpless as a sad-eyed puppy that'd been kicked through a couple of air-ship windows to make her feel all the more guilty.

But if that was his evil plot, Penelo had to admit that it was working beautifully. And as it was, she couldn't even look at him, even after he'd been restored to more or less normal (if you could even _call_ it normal) condition, without wincing and feeling about as low as Balthier's morals when faced with a bevy of willing ladies.

She'd hurt Larsa in just about every way possible over the last few hours. And short of a minor or major miracle-- him coming to his senses and dashing off to hold a raucous gay love affair with Kytes, for example-- she had no idea how she could keep from hurting him in the future either.

She regretted it all but she didn't know how to fix it. They'd have to talk-- they _always_ talked, you probably couldn't shut Larsa up unless you gagged him, shoved a bangaa's muzzle on him and then topped it off with a spell of silence-- but she just didn't know what to say here.

They had to talk but she didn't know if she had anything worth saying.

So she settled for not saying anything. And when she slid her arms gently around Larsa's thin shoulders to pull him closer to her on the narrow cleft of rock they had settled on, he didn't say anything either. He stiffened and then sighed and leaned over to rest his head near her neck, sounding tired more than any other thing.

It was different, this way of holding, from the one they'd had before, and worlds away from the stunt he'd tried to pull on her earlier that day. There was no reason to fear, no reason to flinch, no reason to turn her face away.

There were just his arms draped awkwardly against her back, just his forehead resting shakily against her shoulder, just his shaking voice whispering her name against her ear as she gently stroked the fading bruise on his cheek. It was very nearly easy to push aside her hurt and her anger and her fear and her own injuries when he was like, when his bones felt fragile against her-- thin as those of birds, brittle as finely made glass-- even as his grip tightened against her neck, even as he shook his head as she told him that it was all right, she was fine, all would be well she wasn't even mad here.

It was somehow so much less complicated than she thought it would be.

He was just a scared little boy and she was a barely older and equally frightened girl and she…

She wished it could all be this simple. She wished being with him could always feel this clean.

It took her a second to realize that he wasn't babbling nonsense to her the way she was doing-- he was actually whispering coherent words against her ear. And when she actually stopped to listen, they were somehow both everything she did and didn't expect them to be.

"I'm sorry," he said, and retreated a little to see her face, to look at the way she sighed softly. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I deceived you. I'm sorry I turned everything in your life inside out and right side down without even asking…"

_(You're only breaking my life._ He _broke my heart. There's no real comparison.)_

Forcing that strange thought away, Penelo interrupted gently. "It's all right, Larsa. I mean, I've been thinking about the things you've been telling me about and I feel…"

"No," Larsa said, and his voice was soft and low and his brother's and not his brother's and she told herself not to be scared. "Because, more than anything else, I want to make amends for all that's happened before. And I know I sound as though I apologize all too often and all too insincerely, as though behind the splendor lies nothing else. But I realize now that there are some apologies that are easy to give and some that are more difficult yet."

She didn't even realize her shoulders were shaking again until his hands touched them gently, almost reverently.

"This is the latter," he said, voice low. "These are some of the most difficult words I've ever gifted to anyone here. The words I spoke to you on our first day in Rabanastre, when we were speaking of the nethicite I had given… that apology was facile, flawless, easy. I hadn't harmed you then and you hadn't been angry-- not the way you are here, justifiably. Because I hurt you here and I hurt you badly and all I can say to justify that pain is that I did because I thought you would be glad of it. I just… I just wanted to render, Penelo, everything the world had denied you."

He turned his face away. "And in attempting to do so, I treated you more as a pet than a person. I can't tell you how ashamed I am of myself here."

She turned her own face away, down to face his hands, now curled on his lap tentatively. Without the gloves, his hands looked as scabbed and raw as that of any peasantry. If you looked just at their hands, they would seem so similar, as though nothing really came in between.

"I didn't know I could do this to anyone before. I didn't know I could ape my empire's ideals so wonderfully." His mouth twisted into a fragile, lop-sided smile, the sort she might have come to love if only the world had been a little kinder. "But then, every moment I'm with you, I feel as though I learn something new. Even when that knowledge costs me bitterly."

She could say the same thing, really. And her voice was soft when she finally spoke. "I'm not sure you should learn everything I have to teach."

"Such as?" he asked, and his voice was curiously raw. "What would I possibly spurn here?"

"Would you turn away an apology from me?" she quietly ask. "Would you think _I_ was being insincere?"

He sighed, soft and unhappy. "I would not but I also admit I could not bring myself to feel deserving of one in the least."

Despite herself, she almost laughed. "But if I gave you one, you'd take it any way, right?"

And when he finally-- slowly, _hesitantly_-- nodded, Penelo found her opening.

"Because Larsa, if there's at least one thing I've figured out by howling around in this god-forsaken desert like a werewolf with a head-cold for the last couple of hours, it's that I'm sorry too." He looked ready to speak at that; Penelo rushed on quickly. "And don't tell me it's okay that I hurt you because it's not. I'm older and I'm stronger and I could have hurt you badly. So I'm sorry I hit you. I'm sorry I slammed you into a wall. I'm sorry I spelled you into stopping at the end completely."

Larsa winced at that one, as though he were reliving the moments. And, Penelo thought wryly, they hadn't even gotten to the hard part here.

"I'm sorry I called you so many names. I'm sorry I didn't realize you were hurt because of this war too. I'm sorry for not realizing you had reasons for the things you were trying to do, even if your plans _were_ scary. And manipulative. And conniving. And under-handed. And…"

"May we please by-pass that onslaught of adjectives?" Larsa interrupted hastily. "Really? May we? Please?"

She smiled weakly. "You might want to take that back after hearing what I have to say here." And then she closed her eyes, so she wouldn't have to look at his face when she talked next.

"And most of all," she said softly, "I'm sorry for accidentally lying. I'm sorry for making you think I was somebody worth marrying. Because I keep going over and over and over again, thinking about what might have happened to make you think this marriage idea would be a good deal. And I know it would _help_ Dalmasca-- god knows a lot of Rabanastrans would be happy if a local girl somehow ended up ruling a foreign country. But I just couldn't understand why an Archadian would want a Dalmascan ruler until I realized…"

Across from her, Larsa was so white that the light brown freckles that had developed on his cheeks stood in stark relief.

She took one of his clammy hands into her own and squeezed very gently. "I led you on without even knowing it. I don't know how and you don't know how much I regret it but… Larsa, I get it now. Because when I was around your age, I was just like you too."

Larsa stilled and his fingers slowly dropped from her hand; Penelo sighed almost breathlessly.

So strange, how their roles had reversed to easily. So strange, how she'd become used to him so quickly.

"His name was Reks and he was 17 years old when he died. And even though I tried as hard as I could, I could never make him love me either."

* * *

**Author's Note**: You got moral ambiguity in my Penelo! You got Penelo in my moral ambiguity! Penelo's taking something of a if-you-can't-beat-them-join-them stance at Solidor politics here. Do you feel that's good? Bad? Interesting? Uninteresting? Is her basic adorable sprite character from the game being too badly warped here? I wanted to toughen her up enough so that she isn't eaten in about, oh, 2.6 seconds by any given Archadian in the game but if that comes at the expense of making her a horribly unsympathetic bitch, do let me know. I'm not trying to unbalance the poor girl here-- just give her some complexity.

And the immensely wonderful **akishira** and immensely awesome **logistkanyx** did me the honor of drawing/writing me fan-art and prequels to this series. They come highly, highly recommended at my LJ, though Logistika's Such Games These Solidors Play is also available here.

**Also, A Question For Readers on Fanfiction-dot-net: **Are many people here still following this story? I swear, I'm trying not to act like an entitled fan-brat-- I'll still keep posting this story up on this site for as long as I keep writing it, if only for the lovely people who are still enjoying Knots. And frankly speaking, I don't think I'm very well known or liked on this site anyway. (Er... except as the crazy chick that keeps posting Larsa and Penelo stories. ;) But it sort of seems as though many people have stopped reading a series that once seemed decently popular. If that's the case, could any of you please let me know why? I don't mind criticism and I'd really enjoy hearing from people who think this would-be epic is failing. If there's something I can do to make this story stronger, believe it-- I'll try my best. And thank you ahead of time! 


	14. Chapter 12

This is probably going to be the last chapter of this series for a bit, if only to preserve what's left of my sanity. Hopefully, this won't be the end of the series-- if only because I am sort of ridiculously excited about the new and exciting hijinx that could come about because of new additions to the cast-- but we'll see. Graduate school is currently consuming my soul so I might not even be able to get to work on this series again for... quite a long time, possibly.

And in any case, this particular chapter is for the wonderful and ever-supportive **artemischan** (Happy birthday, lovely! I still need to mail you my present!) and was beta'd by the flat-out amazing **moontear**. (If you haven't already read her new series, Trust and Temptation, you are missing out on a wonderful and suspenseful read.) Everything half-way decent about this chapter can be traced to her and the many other wonderful people I've bugged about the climactic, er, clinch at the end of this chapter. Thanks for putting up with my insanity. ♥

And as always, reviews, comments and questions are very much loved. I'm going on hiatus with this but hearing what people think about this series really _does_ help a great deal in motivating me to get off my lazy rear and start brain-storming!

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 12  
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII  
Series: Knots, Ties and Tides  
Characters/Pairings: Larsa/Penelo, Reks, Vaan, A Few Surprise Guests  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had no idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...  
Warning: Embarrassingly awkward pre-teen mating attempts, possibly?**

* * *

Once upon a time, in a kingdom by the sea, there had lived a boy and a girl and a city and a world that would crumble to ash eventually.

Both the boy and girl had, of course, known long ahead of time of the fate that would engulf all they loved quickly. The city in which they lived was one that was surrounded by strange deserts, by covetous invaders, by foreign empires that desired its treasures dearly. And the kingdom that they lived in and loved was too small to guard itself forever, no matter how many other lands pledged their support or offered princes up for ties and treaties.

Even the blind among them had sight enough to understand that something disastrous was approaching.

Everything would change, the boy and girl both knew well. Nothing could be preserved indefinitely.

Yet there were some in that kingdom who were as the girl was, who shunned strife and mischief and preferred to preserve what could be preserved, to hold fast to permanency. She was of the sort that would forever dig her heels into the earth and say, _Don't stray, don't drift, don't lose your way. Keep coming back to me._

But there were others in the land whose hearts sang of war, who tempted the boy away. He was of the sort that could never lose his ambition to fly, never avert his eyes from the stars, who could lose sight of the ground at his feet as his thoughts carried him away. He could never look at the world around him without thinking, _So small, so strange, so little, so stifling. Surely there must be more than simply what's here?_

And once upon a time, in a kingdom by the sea, a girl held her hand out to a boy and asked him to stay with her indefinitely.

"I could be enough," she said, "for whatever it is that you need. I could give you anything that you please. Stay with me and I'll leave with you soon. You don't need to die to avenge your family."

And then she had pressed herself to him once more, her hair shining as garlands of gold and her arms winding about his neck like rare flowers and her lips pressing against his with the sweetness of cherries. And there in her arms had been Reks; Reks, who had taught her how to wield a bow; Reks, who had first kissed her as she had swung toward him upon a rope; Reks, who had let her weep against him as the last of her brothers broke; Reks, who had laughed at even the silliest of her jokes and inspired the worst of her teenage poetry.

Reks, who had died at the age of seventeen; Reks, who was forgetting her already.

"Forgive me," he had finally said, pushing her away. "For never being able to love you properly."

And then he had smiled for the last time in all his life and turned away completely. 

* * *

She spoke about Reks for the first time then, for the first time in two years.

She hadn't spoken of him even to Vaan after his death; somehow, close as they were or at least had been, they had known that Reks was a sort of chasm for the both of them them, something that neither of them could breach. She had been too hurt and he had been too angry and somehow, two whole years had skidded by without Reks' name slipping past their lips easily.

She had tried, once, just the once, after news of Reks' death had reached them slowly. She had put her hands of Vaan's trembling shoulders and began to say something about-- she couldn't even remember what words she had chosen, what she had thought would be enough to cut off the hurt, what she had thought would help them heal. Something about-- _he knew the risks when he went to war_ and _at least he doesn't have to suffer anymore_ and _maybe it's better this way_--

"No," Vaan had simply said in response. "Don't try to make this seem any better. It's never going to be easy."

And somehow, even as the tears had sprung to her eyes, Penelo had understood completely.

But she spoke of Reks to Larsa now, bravely and calmly and honestly. She spoke of his brother and his friends and his home in Rabanastre, where his footprints still seemed to echo endlessly. She spoke of his family's end and how it had changed him slowly. She spoke of those long, endless days before the war, when everyone in Rabanastre had wandered about with the haunted eyes of ghosts and wondered what would happen to them all eventually.

She spoke of Reks' decision to walk away from all of them, to fight for his parents in the military.

She spoke of trying to make him stay and what it felt like when he had left her entirely.

And though they were things that she simply couldn't say,

_(the feel of Reks' mouth on hers, his fingers snagging at her twisting wrists, the warmth of his body covering her completely)_

She could still tell the broad outlines of their story. She could still recall how, when it came down to it, she and Vaan and all of Rabanastre hadn't been enough in the light of his parents' memory.

It was just like the story of Ashe and her prince, only turned common and humble and cheap. Sometimes, it seemed as though the only thing she knew how to do with her life was to act out scenes that better people had already gone through before, substituting mediocrity for virtuosity.

And when she finally wound back to the way things stood now-- _and here we come full circle, with me in his place and you where I was standing_-- all Larsa could do was look and look and look at her, as though the meaning of all that she had said still remained hopelessly muddy.

"Why are you telling me this?" he finally asked, voice quiet, almost meek. And even within the silence that came right after, she could hear all other questions he wanted to as: _Did you mean to show me more of the evils of my empire? To demonstrate just why you could never love me? Or simply to show me the man you loved, to explain more of why I could never fit his measure completely?_

No, that hadn't been it. She had just wanted to warn him away, show him what could happen if he loved someone who didn't love him, show him what had happened _already_.

She should have known it'd be useless. Reks had warned _her_ and she hadn't listened and the cycle was already starting again here.

"I told you about Reks," Penelo finally said, "to let you know about the risks that you're taking."

And she should have known that he'd be stubborn but somehow, it still surprised her: the _look_ in his eyes as he straightened himself up, as he smoothed out his hair with the palms of his hand, as he then lifted his chin to look her square in the face--

"So you would have me believe that merely because you had your heart broken, the same fate will find me?" His smile had a sharper edge that ever. "How wonderfully optimistic of you, Penelo. You must be the life of every party."

And if _that_ was how he wanted to have it-- and now it was _her_ turn to straighten up and smooth out her loose hair and stare back at him calmly. She might go down in the end, as she seemed to always do with him-- but at least, she'd go down fighting.

_I can play it that way too, Larsa. Just you watch me here._

"Well, I suppose I _am_ know for always having a good time," she simpered sweetly. "And there's a difference between being optimistic and being pants-on-head moronic, Larsa. And since Rabanastre's already got a village idiot in Vaan..."

For a half-second, the hard, biting smile on Larsa's face seemed to soften, turned almost genuine, make him seem more like the boy he truly was than the politician he was trying to be. But then his eyes narrowed and he asked, "But what if I _refuse_ to live without you, Penelo? What if I refuse to settle for reenacting the past you fear so desperately?"

So young, Penelo thought, and curled her arms against her body. Just as she'd been with Reks, really.

"You'd be surprised what you could live with, if you needed to," she answered softly.

"And _you_ would be surprised," Larsa said in return (and his voice was the voice he had had when she had first met him, young and ambitious and fierce) "--what a man of my house can accomplish despite all given boundaries."

And then his fingers were clenching and tightening around her shoulders, him leaning in all too close, until all that she could see was his large, strange eyes-- so piercing and so gray within the thin oval of his face.

"You can't really believe I would force you to do anything you wouldn't want to," he said, his voice suddenly almost pleading. "Did you really think I could ever be heartless enough to demand that you-- that you give yourself up if you didn't truly want to-- that I would even wish for you to--"

"I…" she began, only to realize that she didn't know how to quite end that sentence. "I… maybe not… really…"

"Your trust in me warms all the cockles of my heart," Larsa said, taking a deep breath and clearly trying to master himself here. "But I don't. I would never do anything of that nature. I had honestly thought you would leap at the chance to be empress. I truly did believe..."

He drew back a little; his shoulders were trembling slightly.

"I thought you knew me better than that," Larsa said softly. "I thought you trusted me."

"Larsa," she began. "I didn't mean..."

"Did you really assume," he went on, "that I meant only to treat you as a possession after we were married? Do you really expect that I would not be able to care for and protect and even love you properly? That I and all my family were so removed from humanity?"

"No," she snapped. "No, you're not being realistic here. You keep throwing around the word love around willy nilly--"

"Only," he snapped back, "because it is _appropriate_ to the context."

"--Willy nilly," she doggedly continued on, "when you can't possibly mean it. I mean, God. First of all, you're only twelve years old and--"

"As were you when you first realized you loved this Reks," Larsa said, his tone measured and his eyes slightly hooded. "Or do you mean to tell me that _that_ was merely an infatuation as well?"

It would have hurt less if he had just ran her through with his sword right here.

"...I didn't finish," Penelo finally said, when she could bring herself to speak. "Larsa, you're only twelve _and_ you've only known me for... what? A month, tops? And we've spent all of-- I don't know-- ten days together? I knew Reks and Vaan and all his family almost before I could talk. I knew who he was before I fell in love with him. And in your case, I've _heard_ that people could fall in love at first sight but..."

"Well then," Larsa interrupted triumphantly. "There you have it. I didn't exactly fall in love with you at first sight either!"

Penelo had to pause. "...Oh, really?"

And _now_ was a fine time for Larsa to stop and look deathly embarrassed. "To be absolutely fair, you _did_ look a bit unhygienic right after your escape from captivity and the mines. Your clothes were positively stained, your face was rather grubby and the condition of your hair alone…"

Penelo paused once again, more ominously this time. "Oh. _Really_."

Larsa blushed, ducked his head down and continued on tenaciously. "But your true beauty did shine through the circumstances after a suitable interlude within the Bhujerban baths! And in any case, we _did_ have a chance to spend an entire week after your rescue together. I had to know more about you before I succumbed to your incredibly alluring… personality!"

"Oh yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "You're really convincing me here." And she could only sigh at the fact that he was somehow smart enough to go about rescuing whole countries with the power of puffy sleeves and yet _still_ stupid enough not to understand why all his plans where she was concerned were completely and utterly crazy. "The point is that only lunatics decide to get married after only knowing someone for a month. And Larsa, how can you love me if you barely spent time with me?"

But that only made Larsa square his shoulders and look even more stubborn. "I know far more about you than I would about _any_ other woman that could potentially marry me. Do you have any idea how lucky we are to have garnered the time we have here?" And then, before she could even process that, he went on. "And in any case, if you truly do believe I don't know a single relevant fact about you, do feel free to test me. I look forward to refuting charges as ridiculous as these."

If she hadn't been so annoyed at his high-and-mighty way of speaking here, she might have asked him exactly what he meant by them being _lucky_. But instead, indignation drowning out her normal excess of common sense, she just narrowed her eyes. "Fine. What's my last name?"

And in return, Larsa blinked and then slowly began to smile that slightly dangerous smile of his, the one that could have belonged to an esper about to embark on a hume feast. "Majus," he sweetly said. "I've been notified by reliable sources that it actually is of some repute within mage societies."

Penelo just snorted. "Oh, that was just a warm-up and don't even try to flatter me. Try _this_ instead. What's my middle name?"

"Athenie," Larsa all but purred sweetly. "After your mother, who named you for her own mother in turn. The name goes back centuries."

She had to blink at that but-- well, that was still common knowledge, wasn't it? Hell, he could get it from nearly everyone who knew her, really.

This was… nothing to worry about. Nothing at all, honestly.

"What's my favorite color?" Penelo warily asked, testing the waters slowly.

"Pink," he replied instantly. "Which is rather odd, since you don't seem to wear any usually. But you did happen to have a rather large number of undergarments of that hue--"

He stopped as soon as her death-glare hit him and his voice was meek when he spoke again. "Forgive me, Penelo, but you did have me do your laundry. It was hard not to... er... well... _notice_ a few interesting tendencies."

Not for the first time, Penelo wondered whether death _wouldn't_ actually be a plausible option here. "Well, I didn't think you'd pick up on _that_, for the love of baby cacti. And I can't afford too much pink in my wardrobe anymore-- the dye's been more than a little pricey lately. And what's my favorite food? "

"What a pity," Larsa said with admirably well-executed gravity. "Did you know that Archades is renowned all throughout the continent for its shopping districts and skilled dress makers? And incidentally, cactus-flavored ices have been all the rage for the palace desert chefs since Dalmascan culinary fashions began making inroads in the empire's kitchens."

She had to perk up at that. "Hey, really? That's funny, that's also my favorite..." And then she had to pause to take in Larsa's sly grin, which was near insufferable when it came at her expense. "Tricky, Solidor, very tricky. But are you tricky enough to know when my birthday's coming?"

His grin widened in a way that would do a bangaa proud. "But of course. And it's precisely four months, two weeks and... two days, I believe, from this exact date. You will be turning seventeen… which means that for over three months, we shall only be _three_ years apart in age."

The angelic glow that came over Larsa's face at those words was disturbing in an almost _visceral_ way.

"And moving on," she muttered, "to something that's at least a little less likely to give me bad dreams... what's my favorite spot in Rabanastre?" They hadn't even gone to visit this time around, which ought to stump him rather handily.

She should had known better, however, than to underestimate the power of crazy eyes. And, teeth gleaming in the desert sun, Larsa answered beaming. "The chocobo stalls near the outside gates. You find the chicks absolutely adorable and tend to stop by to see them nearly every day."

All right, _now_ this was creepy. She knew he was telekenetic simply from watching him take on winged beasts in the Ozmone Plains. If he turned out to be telepathic on top of that, she was ready to turn on her heels and start running.

But not before asking another question. "And when's the last time I went on a date, anyway?"

"Ah," Larsa replied, and his angelic beam only increased exponentially. "That was when we were eating lunch together at the base of the fountain in Rabanastre the other day."

Penelo could only stare at him blankly in response.

"Well," he shrugged, "_I_ consider it to be one. There _was_ only one person who paid for two meals, even if it wasn't the male of our party."

Sighing, Penelo slipped a hand onto her forehead to massage out the tension head-ache she already knew was coming. "One last question. Larsa, are you sure you're not actually fifteen years old but faking being a couple years younger just to… I dunno… escape from anyone who'd kill you dead if you were old enough to inherit your kingdom already?"

He all but physically recoiled at that. "Good God, I hope not. That might mean I might stay at my present height _permanently._."

"Whatever you say," she muttered, and then, dark suspicions already forming, moved on swiftly. "And you can't expect me to believe you got all that information from just spending a couple of days in Rabanastre with me! You're good but you couldn't have possibly known what my favorite place was when we never even went to visit it. Who spilled the chocobo droppings on me? Was it Ashe? No, had to be someone who actually knows me-- was it _Migelo_?! _Oooooh_, I should have known he'd sell me out for any pretty boy who can sell a couple of potions, you can't trust a merchant with these things…"

Far from looking shifty-eyed, however, Larsa looked decidedly intrigued. "Does that mean you consider me… _pretty_?"

Not for the first time, Penelo rather wished she could be struck mute eternally.

Meanwhile, the aura of smug superiority that had been hovering around Larsa since he had started thinking about aging was now threatening to grow large enough to attract small bodies to its gravitational field. "Not that I could possibly blame you for doing so, of course. My father _was_ considered quite the specimen in his prime and my brother _has_ had his share of admirers over the years. I can't blame you for being attracted to me."

Not for the first time, Penelo wondered if anyone would be _too_ put out if she gutted him, scooped all his innards out to sell to the bangaa black market and stuffed whatever was left of him inside a rusty sewer main.

"But in any case," Larsa carried on, blissfully unaware of her homicidal intentions, "it wasn't Migelo, kind though he was to me. Those scales really _can_ hide a kind soul. I actually had to glean my info from the brain of another young associate. He told me to call him my rampaging chocobo of illicit chance… but I believe he generally goes by Kytes."

It was odd how the hume brain occasionally stopped functioning properly in the wake of news that could shut it down completely.

"…Kytes," Penelo slowly said. "Kiiites. Ki-hiiites. Your age. About your height. Light haired, wears a vest and blue shorts and works in the Sundries?"

Larsa nodded demurely, as though there was nothing in the world _wrong_ with the scenario he was painting there. "That would be the one, yes. And let me inform _you_, Penelo-- his information cost all my charms to extract readily."

"Buh… buh… buh…" She couldn't even _talk_ properly here. "But I thought he liked little _girls_, not little _boys_! Oh, poor Filo's going to have her heart broken when she finds out differently!"

And when Larsa smiled _that_ sweetly, Penelo knew more than well enough to fear.

"He does, but that possibility may come about anyway." Oh God, it was so _disturbing_ when Larsa's teeth twinkled that way. "He actually took me to be a fair and virtuous maiden from the moment he met me, and when he turned out to be such a valuable source of information…" Sweet Lord, those batted eyelashes of his were going to kill her sooner or later. "I decided to let the situation play out in that way."

Black was white. The sea was the sky. Nothing in all the rest of the world wanted to make sense anymore.

"You-- you-- you _seduced_ poor _innocent_ little Kytes just so you--"

Larsa shrugged demurely. "Seduce is much too strong a word, Penelo. And as a matter of fact, I probably did him quite the favor. He probably learned more about dealing with women in an hour with me than he did in his past twelve years."

"Oh god," Penelo groaned. "Please, please, _please_ don't give me any details here. I know kids grow up fast nowadays but that's just _scary_."

The smile Larsa granted her somehow managed to be both sad and smug. "Yes, rather, I suppose it can be. But sometimes we don't have a choice to act differently."

She cast her own eyes down at that. She knew that all too well herself.

"But in any case," Larsa said, his hand coming to tug at her wrist, "has all that been enough to prove that I truly know the _real_ you, not whatever apparition you believe I've been looking forward to? Will you give my suit of marriage some real consideration here?"

He was expecting her to give in now, Penelo very well knew. He was expecting her to just sigh and concede to all his points and swoon into his arms immediately. And truth be told, she couldn't really blame him. He was almost _frighteningly_ clever and it wasn't hard to believe that most of the people in his life knew well enough to just give into what he wanted quickly. And truth be told, though it hurt her ego to admit it, it wasn't as though _she_ had been all that formidable of an obstacle so far. They'd already fallen into the nasty pattern of her arguing against his insane plans for a short while before giving in completely.

But then, in a way, most of her life had been spent giving in to the desires of others around her. It had happened with Reks. It had happened with Ashe. It was probably going to happen again, right now and right here.

Maybe it was time to stop struggling against the tide and find a way to make it turn in her favor.

Even if it did mean turning into the very thing she was trying to escape here.

"I think I deserve one last question," Penelo said calmly. "Because answering all those others that I gave you only proves that you were smart enough to _find_ information about me. It doesn't prove that you know who I _really_ am… or who I want to be."

And when she saw that strange, lucid light spring into Larsa's eyes-- that same light that always came when she defied him and his plans, the one that only proved that he'd struggle harder and faster against whatever challenges came his way-- she knew that she had him hooked completely.

"Can you tell me," she asked softly, "why I was so upset this morning? Do you know why I was so angry when I came back from Ashe? Do you…"

His eyes were so, so, so very wide right now-- the color of the sky after the dawn had come, pale but slowly darkening.

"Do you know why I ran away? Do you know why you hurt me so badly?"

And then, very carefully, as though something would shatter if he took a false step, Larsa rose from the low stone perch he had been sitting on and crossed three inches to where she was still resting. Then, just as carefully, Larsa bent over-- slowly, very slowly, deliberately giving her more than enough time to push him away if she wanted to-- and drew one of her hands up to kiss her knuckles gently.

"Because I was a fool," he whispered, and his breath stirred against her fingers, "who should have known mere power couldn't tempt you currently. Because I wanted to _conquer_ you and hold you fast, just as my empire had done to your city. Because I am a _coward_ when it comes to love, a coward who doesn't want to give you the chance to leave without learning more of me."

His hands were like free-flying birds as they gripped hers.

"Because I love you much too much," he finally said, "to let you slip past me."

"Then walk with me," Penelo softly replied. "so we can settle everything here."

* * *

She felt oddly calm as she took her hand in his own and they ambled the few short yards left between the desert proper and the beach. And even as the call of the sea-gulls and the smell of the salty sea grew stronger and stronger, Penelo felt more and more as though she were slipping off into a far away dream. In a way, strange as it might seem, it was all working out as she had imagined it would as she had wandered the desert before Larsa had found her, as she had traced her own history.

She'd done her best to keep the past from repeating itself, from making her into Reks and Larsa into herself and rewinding itself, over and over and over. She had hoped that if she could just tell Larsa about Reks, just show him what could happen if he persisted on wanting her, he'd recognize the consequences, understand all her warnings, realize that trying to love someone who didn't love you would always be a lost cause.

But Larsa just wouldn't _listen_. Larsa wouldn't give up on her any more than she had given up on Reks. For all their differences-- gender, age, class, nationality-- he was too much like her where this was concerned.

Except she had never had the power to compel Reks to marry her, of course. Reks had never had to serve as a human bribe for her. That was the true difference here.

And when they stood in the banks of the Nebra together, Penelo realized that her only real advantage over Larsa was the fact that she knew how this story would play out from the start.

The only thing she could do this time around was minimize the hurt that was coming.

"Larsa," she said softly, almost sadly, and his palm was damp in her own. "Larsa, are you sure you want to marry me? Is there anything I could do to make you change your mind?"

"No," he replied, and he sounded more hopeful than he had ever been before. "No, I can't think of a single thing."

"Oh," she said, and had to smile, tired though it might be. "I had a funny feeling that that was just what you were going to say."

And then she took a deep breath, turned to look at his bright face, drew both hands into her own and struck a bargain with the devil at last.

"Larsa," she said, and her voice was as soft as she could make it. "Larsa, strange though it is to admit it, I think you've been right all this time about me. I know I've fought you every step of the way but maybe it _would_ be best for me to come with you to Archades, to serve as your empress, to serve as a tie for our countries. You and me, we want the same things, we feel what we feel and we should say what we meant. We've fought too much over the last few days-- but this should be simpler, Larsa. It should be easy and clean."

And despite everything else she was feeling now-- guilt, uncertainty, terror, grief-- at least she knew that she'd never forgot the _look_ that came over her soon-to-be-husband's face when she got down on one knee to propose to him properly.

"So Larsa, I guess all I want to say is…"

_(and her voice was trembling and her knees were wavering and her back was aching and her stomach was fluttering and her heart felt like it might crack in half and oh god, this was **insane**)_

"…will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

The look on his face that came after could have outshone even the sun's incandescent beauty.

"I--" he began to say, stuttered, stopped, flushed, began laughing. "I-- I didn't-- I couldn't have-- I didn't realize you wanted… I mean…" It almost hurt to see the incredulous joy that was all over his face, lighting him from within, bringing him down to his knees. "I, I didn't realize you were so eager to--" And then he was looking her full in the face, eyes bright and cheeks flushing and she wanted to look away but she couldn't-- she needed to see what she was doing.

"I can't," she said, and she was already stuttering stupidly. "I can't promise you the rest of my life, Larsa, not now, not here. But-- but we could try, at least for a year or two, to make this work, to be married, to bring Archadia and Dalmasca together, to do our best for peace--"

(_Right before I leave you, of course. I won't sacrifice all my life, here._)

"Yes," he said, "Yes--" Still beaming, taking her hands again in his own, interlacing his fingers with hers, not caring in the least that her hands were clammy, that they were kneeling now in wet, silting sand, not knowing the least about what she was planning. "Yes, yes, we'll try and-- and I'll find a way to make you happy, Penelo, and we'll bring peace together eventually-- I the hero of Archades and you the heroine of your country and-- and you'll be an empress soon and you will have everything you could desire, you will want for nothing--"

"I," she began, and could not finish properly. He just looked so _excited_ when all this time, she'd been _lying_--

And then, before she could do anything else, he grabbed her by the shoulders, thrust forward to kiss her-- and all other thoughts she might have had melted away _instantly._

Larsa kissed her as though he wanted to _peck_ her to death, madly, deeply and passionately. Given how clumsy and ridiculously eager he had alway been about touching her, Penelo had long suspected that he'd be a novice to anything to with human contact. But this-- this went above and _beyond_ any previous assumptions of ineptness she had made about him previously. Because for some reason, Larsa seemed to think that the only way he could properly show how much he loved her was by shoving his incredibly bony sternum into her already aching form and pinching his lips into a quasi-beak that he then thrust into various unsuspecting bits of her anatomy. Eyelids, cheeks, chin, nose, lips-- nothing above Penelo's neckline was spared as the astonishing force of devastation that was her new intended's make-out technique swept across her body.

It was probably the worst thing Penelo's face had ever had to endure-- _including_ that one time that she had accidentally face-planted into an angry bunch of sentient warrior cacti-- and all she really wanted to do now was shove Larsa off and scramble away and ask him what the _hell_ he thought he was _doing_ and had he learned to kiss from a damn _chocobo corral_ and if he thought that just because they were now engaged she was now going to be his _floozy_--

But anything she could have done in response fell away immediately. Because whatever else she had been expecting when she had finally jerked her mouth away from Larsa's, it hadn't been what she was looking at now.

"Uncle Basch?" Penelo found herself asking numbly. "And _Balthier_? What are you two _doing_ here?"

_And how much,_ a very large and very panicked part of Penelo wanted to ask, _did you two already see?!_

* * *

**Author's Note**: And now the kind people on my f-list know why I wanted to have Larsa _tastefully_ lunge at and snog Penelo in the end. It wouldn't be nearly as dramatic if Basch and Balthier had just stumbled onto Larsa and Penelo calmly talking. ;)

Credit to where credit's due: that paragraph about Reks near the bottom of the first section was inspired by Jorge Luis Borges' moving essay "Beatrice's Last Smile," which can be found in "Selected Non-Fictions," edited by Eliot Weinberger. And that's your daily dose of pretension for the day!

And also... does anyone have any good ideas for what Basch can be used for? Oddly enough, though I hardly ever write Balthier, I can think of a thousand and one ways he can needle Larsa, flirt with Penelo and give some much needed advice about surviving Archades. (And Vayne Solidor. Pray for Penelo, people. She will need it dearly.) But though I love Basch, I can't quite figure out how to use him here, though I want to write him very badly. Any suggestions...?


	15. The Series in 15 Minutes

So... I recently realized that, thanks to very generous readers at both Livejournal and Fanfiction-dot-net, Knots just hit the 100 reviews mark.

And then I realized that I've literally never written anything that so many people have enjoyed before.

And finally, I realized that I wanted to do something to thank all my lovely readers for spurring me on with this crazy epic all this time.

And this... this turned out to be the natural result of that series of thought processes.

I hope y'all enjoy reading these two bits of crazy as much as enjoyed writing them!

* * *

**Title: Heaven or the Nebra  
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII  
Series: Knots, Ties and Tides  
Characters/Pairings: Penelo, Basch, Larsa  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: Heaven has a new definition when Basch fon Ronsenberg's around...**

When Penelo had been a little girl standing on the banks of the Nebra with her brothers, her idea of heaven had mostly consisted of splashing around the waters to her heart's content, never having to pay even the slightest bit of mind to what anyone else did around her.

After all, as a child, the youngest in her family and the only girl as well, most of her life had been spent having to listen her ears off to everyone around her. _Don't do this_ and _don't eat that_ and _try not to follow that Vaan kid around, he'll only lead you to an early grave by trying to play hide and seek down in the sewers_-- she'd long since memorized (and learned to get around) most of the restrictions people seemingly loved to wrap about her.

Most of her life, she had thought heaven was never having to pay attention to anything else going on about her.

But when Basch-- _Uncle_ or not, surely quasi-incest wasn't any worse than actual pedophilia-- turned to her to ask if she would mind him taking half an hour or so to reacquaint himself with some of the beauties of Dalmasca-- it had been _so_ long, Penelo, surely you wouldn't mind indulging an old man?-- she knew she had been dead wrong.

Heaven, she decided, right then and there, wasn't ignoring people at all.

Heaven wasn't even doing whatever you wanted, unless voyeurism was involved.

Heaven was watching with wide eyes and clammy hands and a rapidly racing heart as the _most beautiful man she had ever seen, ever_, stripped down to nothing more than his underwear

(his gloriously, gloriously _white_ underwear-- and she swore, then and there, that'd she'd never stop cherishing Balthier's ability to drive the best bargains in the market)

and slowly wade out into the cool, beautiful, wonderfully _transparent_ waters.

Penelo could have sworn she heard a chorus of angels singing at the first wave that had hit the seat of Basch's buttocks, leaving many things underexposed that she'd be happy to later investigate at her leisure.

And then Larsa-- who had been diligently inspecting first the proceedings, then Penelo's face, and back again without pause-- made a considering noise at the back of his throat. "It _does_ seem rather 'fun' to strip down to the bare essentials and frolick amidst the sand, doesn't it? I suppose neither of you would mind if I had a try as well?"

And even as the sound of the first zipper slowly rolling off the built-like-a-twelve-year-old-boy-because-h e-_was_-one-_damn_-all-the-gods resounded through Penelo's mind, she realized something.

This wasn't heaven at all.

This was really hell.

And apparently, it enjoyed watching her _suffer._

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides In 15 Minutes  
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII  
Series: Knots, Ties and Tides  
Characters/Pairings: Larsa/Penelo, Ashe, Random OCs  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: The entire (first half) of the series, condensed for easy reading!**

**Prequel**

[After Larsa meets Penelo outside the mines in Bhujerba for the first time

Larsa: Well, _hello_. I noticed you're here being remarkably feisty and cute and also, incredibly in need of some rescuing by someone heroic and manly!  
Penelo: Well, I guess I _could_ use kind of a hand getting away from Judge Gorgon over there. You offering any…?  
Larsa: _Am_ I? Come to my palace of love, sugar-thighs! You can have all the lace-up booths and sanctuary from evil judges you could ever need!  
Penelo: Uhhhh… okay, sure, flippy-haired little girl. I'm sure there's nothing you could do to harm me.

[Portentous thunder rolls across the scene.

Ondore: So... do the nobles of House Solidor often take mistresses at so tender an age? Or is Lord Larsa the exception here?  
Ghis: Lord Larsa is almost _always_ the exception. May God help us _all_-- but especially that little girl-- here.

**Chapter 1**

[In Jahara Village

Penelo: La di da… fa la la… here I am, being a (mostly) innocent and (completely) politically inexperienced and (fairly) normal girl here! Completely boring and staid and simple-- that's my story line. And don't think I don't appreciate it either!  
Ashe: Be prepared to have your world rocked here.  
Penelo: AAEDIFHA-- did I just _hear_ your right? You want to make _me_ into nobility?!  
Ashe: You're cute, you're loyal, you're friends with the future emperor of Archadia and everyone else that could possibly fit is dead, dead, deader than Dalmascan disco because of purges by the Archadians. What could possibly concern you here?  
Penelo: It's just… damn. I never even thought about it. But it sure seems like a sweet deal with no hidden strings…  
Ashe: Ahaha… yes. Yes. No need to get suspicious here.  
Penelo: Uhm. Are you _sure_ all that seeing-dead-people stuff hasn't actually harvested your brain seeds of crazy?

[Walking through the Golgomore Jungle

Larsa: My God, Penelo, it feels as though it's been forever and a day since I've seen your glorious face!  
Penelo: Um… actually… it's just been a few weeks…  
Larsa: So many weeks, Penelo! Too many weeks!  
Penelo: Okay, see, I know I'm the Number One Sales Associate in Rabanastre for three years in the running for a reason but-- that's just crazy.  
Larsa; If only I could spirit you away to Archades now, my darling!  
Penelo: Bu-bu-buh-- what the hell would I be doing in _Archades_?  
Larsa; Being my wife! But oh, didn't Lady Ashe tell you?  
Penelo: …Sometimes, being conscious just isn't worth it. So, if you'll just excuse me…

**Chapter 2:**

[In Eryupt Village

Penelo: Guh… uh… ugh… I feel like I just woke up from the worst hang-over ever… did Vaan challenge me to another drinking contest here?  
Ashe: Sorry, Sparkles and Sunshine, but you've got bigger problems than just being bowled over by a bunny wabbit. Namely, I'm planning on marrying you off to Archadia's Emperor to be.  
Penelo: …Gramis?  
Ashe: Old news.  
Penelo: Vayne?  
Ashe: You wish.  
Penelo: …Larsa?!  
Ashe: Ka-ching. He's 12 years old, he's disturbingly hot-to-trot and he wants you badly.  
Penelo: Eeep!  
Ashe: Oh, I can't _force_ you to do it. After all, I can't _make_ you become the fabulously wealthy and extraordinarily important first Dalmascan Empress of the Archadian empire and put you in a position of power that would let you heal the rift between our two nations merely by using your reproductive organs properly. It's not like I can just _tell_ you to do what any decent person would do for the love of their country.  
Penelo: Oh, geeze, when you put it _that_ way. And if it's so great, why can't _you_ do the marrying off?  
Ashe: Think, girl. What kind of half-assed queen would I be if I made the mistake of _marrying_ the very people who conquered us and letting _my_ rarefied bloodline mingle with theirs?  
Penelo: So what am I supposed to do? Screw an Archadian because they screwed us over earlier?  
Ashe: I think you're starting to get the hang of this kind of thing.

**Chapter 3:**

Penelo: Oh shit oh shit oh damn oh geeze. Right now, my life is sucking _badly._ I'm stuck here with a bunch of freaking trees, my entire crew's left me behind, people keep trying to turn me into a pedophile for politics and my poor would-be-groom is probably being jerked around by his evil overlords in Archades to get him to marry me for some nefarious purpose!  
Raya, the Random OC Viera Healer: …Maybe.  
Penelo: But oh well, at least I have some nice scenery. Hey, sexy amazon bunny lady. How _you_ doin'?  
Raya, the Random OC Viera Healer: …I'm fairly sure the name you gave me is not the name I should be having.

[After Ashe and co. return from the Henne Mines

Ashe: You done fretting and ready to do some lovin'?  
Penelo: Not so fast, crazy lady! I want to spend some time with the creepy kid trying to marry me… though, uh, it's _totally_ not because I want to try and get him to change his mind about our unholy matrimony. No, uh. Of course not. I'm not trying to expose the evil plans of his guardians or _anything_ here.  
Ashe: …I love it when they try to escape their inevitable fate. How long will you need?  
Penelo: One day. Just one!  
Ashe: Oh, I'm sure you'll stick to that time table exactly.

**Chapter 4:**

[After heading to Rabanastre with a prince in tow

Penelo: Oh, Larsa. You poor, misguided child. Is there anything I could do to make you change your mind about wanting to marry me?  
Larsa: Well… I suppose you could somehow magically become unattractive. And incredibly unappealing. And extraordinarily boring. And lose all of your charm, wit, humor, grace, beauty, kindness, sense of empathy, warmth and _incredibly_ fascinating panty line designs.  
Penelo: ….  
Larsa: I probably shouldn't have said that last out loud here.  
Penelo: But you're just being manipulated by your elders, Larsa! Can't you understand that they're all just trying to stuff up our lives for their own benefit?  
Larsa: …Maybe. But… what about peace, Penelo?  
Penelo: Well…  
Larsa: What about healing the rift between our two countries?  
Penelo: Er…  
Larsa: What about the poor, sweet, anguished orphans like yourself that you could help so dearly?!  
Penelo: Okay, _now_ you're trying to guilt trip me.  
Larsa: Can't you just give peace a chance, sweet Penelo? For all of us here?  
Penelo: I… I guess. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?  
Larsa: Oh Penelo. You're just so young and so _naive_!

**Chapter 5**

[While getting Larsa ready for a night out in Rabanastre, Incognito

Larsa: Er… Are you _sure_ this is how people dress in Rabanastre, Penelo? I know I have to appear a little less Machiavellian for a short time but these clothes seem a bit flimsy…  
Penelo: Larsa. We live in a freaking desert. Vaan can't afford a shirt. Basch likes wearing old Rozarrian Cinco de Mayo decorations. Ashe dresses only in inappropriately colored tea-cozies. And I just realized that your family was pretty much responsible for the death of mine so _don't push me._  
Larsa: …Good point.  
Penelo: If we ever get married, we'll have the most awkward family reunions _ever._ So why don't we go out on the town, have some fun and try to kill enough brain cells by drink so that we don't even have to remember that kind of thing?  
Larsa: Even better point here!

[Out in the Rabanastre Night Life

Penelo: Look, Larsa! Look at the bitchy soldiers! The sad street orphans! The inappropriately dressed-- well, actually, never mind _that_ bit here.  
Larsa: …  
Penelo: Oh, c'mon, we're _Dalmascan._ None of us dress normally. And don't tell me that seeing an occupied city doesn't tug at your heart-strings! Even if you don't end up marrying me, you still need to help save this country!  
Larsa: Did I ever tell you about how cute you are when you're trying to out-plot me?  
Penelo: …?  
Larsa: Like trying to watch a headless chicken take on a tiger. Adorable, really.  
Penelo: …So, uhm, how about a dance-off? I win, I get the favor of my choice. You win and… well, first, hell would probably freeze over and Satan would start lacing up his ice skates. But if you've somehow mastered mass-hypnosis, I'll let you have a favor too.  
Larsa::shakes his skinny hips and apparently masters mass-hypnosis::  
Crowd: We like the trollop with the flippy hair and the cool boots. What can we say-- we're a sucker for strangers with good follicular upkeep.  
Penelo: I hate you all. All of you. So much. So indescribably much here.  
Larsa: So… about my favor?  
Penelo: …Eeep!  
Larsa: Well, I suppose I _could_ save it for later…  
Penelo: I'm not sure whether to be more or _less_ disturbed by that. But anyway… to bed!  
Larsa: …  
Penelo: …Separately!

**Chapter 6:**

[After waking up the next morning.

Penelo: Geeze, is it just me or do I spend a little bit _too_ much time hung over in this story? It's almost like whoever's writing this wants me make some sort of clumsy point about me being tougher than most people see me, or something.  
Random Icky OC Archadian Solider: Well, _hello_ there, you pig-tailed temptress with golden tresses! How _you_ doin'?  
Penelo: Oh, don't even. I'd rather stick my goodies in a blender and press puree. And also, is it just me or do I send off some sort of weird northerners-only hormone or something?  
Random Icky OC Archadian Solider: Hey, I'm only doing what the plot's telling me to do, lady. I can't answer _all_ your questions here.  
Larsa: Stand-back, evil doer! I've got an arm that took out a bangaa bounty hunter and probably also signs tons of important documents and I'm not afraid to use it here!  
Penelo: Oh, how cute, he's trying to rescue-- eep!

[Larsa beans the soldier with a rock, grabs Penelo and shuffles her off to safety in Lowtown.

Larsa: Oh, Penelo! If something had happened to you before, I don't know what I'd do!  
Penelo: Er…  
Larsa: I don't know where I'd be!  
Penelo: Um…  
Larsa: It's clear that I need to follow your _every move_ from now on, dear Penelo.  
Penelo: Eh…  
Larsa: Every move you make, every step you take, I'll be _watching you._  
Penelo: Eeep! But… but… _extremely_ large issues of how freaking creepy that all sounds, why _are_ you doing this? Don't you have, like, other things to worry about?  
Larsa: You'd think so, wouldn't you? But if I did, this story wouldn't be here. And you're the first _real friend_ I've ever had that my father didn't buy me, Penelo. I can't let you go so easily!  
Penelo: …  
Larsa: I'll do your laundry by hand and promise you flowery oaths about friendship and love but _I can't let you leave!_ And since I'm a prince of a major empire, you can't exactly bring a restraining order against me!  
Penelo: …Damn. I really need to come up with a clever new plot to get out of this. And maybe think about genetically altering my pheromones or something.

**Side Story 1: Of Magisters and Men**

[In Archades, sometime between the prequel and chapter 1

Gabranth: Is it just me or does the fact that Lord Larsa seems almost psychotically fixated on some young Dalmascan chippy with interesting underwear decorations seem kind of… strange?  
Drace: Tch. You think _he's_ bad? You should see what Lord Vayne can get up to when he's got an esper up his tautly-toned rear!  
Gabranth: Isn't it fun to set up future plot-lines for this story long after you're gone, Drace?  
Drace: One of the few things that gets me through the day, honestly.  
Gabranth: Along with _my_ tautly toned rear, of course.  
Drace: Oh, naturally.

**Chapter 7:**

[After getting breakfast in Rabanstre at freaking last.

Penelo: Oh Larsa. When you're not being creepy, manipulative, far too precocious for your age or just generally a devious little sumbitch, you're actually… pretty good company!  
Larsa: Thank you! I think. Would now be a good time to reveal that I'm speciest as well?  
Penelo: OMG, so weird! What could possibly be strange about living in a society chock full of cuddly rejects from H. R. Geiger's hind brain?!  
Larsa: The world may never know, Penelo. Incidentally, you now owe me another favor about a vacation spot because I out-ate you, unlikely as it seems.  
Penelo: …Well, damn. Insert pot-belly joke here.  
Larsa: I wonder if these things will ever have any pay-off in the future? Or has everyone reading forgotten about them already?  
Penelo: Never mind, we've got worse things to think about. Like… how am I supposed to keep Ashe from slaughtering me like a hunky general she has amazing amounts of UST with once I tell her I still haven't decided to marry you and I still want to spend more time with you to get you to chan-- I mean, _make up_ your mind!  
Larsa: Well… you _could_ always tell her that I'm starting to get cold feet and need to encounter more… persuasion from your end.  
Penelo: …You… you… you want me to pretend to seduce a small Solidor scion to do my saucy bidding?  
Larsa: Bingo. You catch on fast.  
Penelo: …Oh, what the heck. I bet hell has a _great_ climate this time of year. I think I'll do just that after dropping you off at Migelo's. But first…

[Penelo hugs Larsa in the Sundries.

Larsa: My god, the sweet, sweet touch of a woman. It's even better than I thought it could be!  
Penelo: …Um… I think I'll just go away here.

[After meeting Ashe again in the Village of the Scary Amazon Bunny Ladies

Ashe: Show-down?  
Penelo: Show-down.  
Ashe: I wasn't kidding when I said I loved it when they never see their fate coming. 

* * *

**Author's Note**: I do hope you all enjoyed that exercise in madness, strange as a parody based on a comedy must be. ;) But in any case, thank you all again for actually reading and commenting on this series and helping to spur it on into its present state of sprawling crazy. ♥

Also, I've recently had the mad idea of writing an alternate pornverse of Knots where Larsa's 16-- instead of 12-- and mad amounts of sex happens at inopportune moments. Would anyone want to read the crazy NC-17 one-shots that'd come out of that if I wrote it? Because I swear, it's been _far_ too long since I wrote a good sex scene for these crazy kids..._  
_


	16. The Series in 15 Minutes, Part 2

Sadly, this is going to be the last fic I'm putting up until my classes end sometime in late May. Unfortunately, my decision in January to try and handle four grad school classes at once… isn't really leaving much time for fandom fun and frolicking. :deeeeep sigh: But in any case, this is for **logistikanyx** and everyone else who's been kind enough to follow this crazy, mad-cap, far-too-odd-for-its-own-good series. It's taking a rather tumultuous jump into being a drama-with-comedic-underpinnings (rather than a comedy-with-dramatic-underpinnings)… but with any luck, perhaps it will still survive the leap?

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides In 15 Minutes, Part 2  
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII  
Series: Knots, Ties and Tides  
Characters/Pairings: Larsa/Penelo, Ashe, Reks, Basch, Balthier, Random OCs  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: The entire second half of the series, condensed for easy reading!**

* * *

**Chapter 8:**

In Eryupt Village

Penelo: Gosh, everyone. Has being repeatedly bludgeoned by my personal history made it any more clear that I'm not as innocent as people take me to be?  
Ashe: Oh, stand in line, sister. My tragic back story could spank yours like a red-headed step child.  
Penelo: Bitch, please. My man had at _least_ as bad a taste in battle armor as Prince Prittihairs!  
Ashe: Oh, you're just _asking_ for a royal ass-whupping.  
Penelo: But in any case, I've been giving the whole Larsa thing a re-do. Even if he looks like he's only a month away from menstruating, he's not so very... um... godawful, honestly.  
Ashe: ...Hmm. Bit of a change from before, huh?  
Penelo: What, you don't believe a few blissful days in Rabanastre with the Manliest Twelve Year Old Ever could have made me love him?  
Ashe: Pull the other one, it's got bells and whistles and naked men mud wrestling.  
Penelo: Well, let's just say my latent gold-digger genes kicked in. If I can't be a sky pirate, I might as well find some way to raid the Archadian treasury.  
Ashe: So you're ready to get hitched immediately?  
Penelo: ...Er, I didn't say _that_. Shouldn't we wait to make sure that Larsa's guardians aren't secretly screwing him over with the whole marriage to a girl from a conquered territory that's about to be freed kinda thing?  
Ashe: Well, they might have... if they were even involved and if it hadn't been only Larsa's brainchild from the start.  
Penelo: ...?!  
Ashe: So... how comfortable are you with being known as a pedophile for peace? Because I'm thinking, it'd be a damn catchy slogan to promote the wedding for the public.  
Penelo: Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!

**Chapter 9:**

In Eryupt Village

Penelo: Oh god oh god oh god please tell me this isn't happening to me please tell me I'm not about to be shipped off to another country as a human bribe please tell me this is just the result of toking something from Old Dalan's den that Vaan dragged over oh please oh please _oh please!_  
Ashe: Do you still need to be educated on the facts of life? Because I'm sure if we ask kindly, those viera could whip up _something_ interesting...  
Penelo: ...  
Ashe: For purely educational purposes, of course. What kind of girl are you, honestly?  
Penelo: One that's currently going crazy. And can this peace thing still go through if I _kill my groom_ before the wedding goes through?  
Ashe: Ah, I love the sweet sound of a marriage already starting. Mazel tav, my dear.

Back in Rabanastre

Penelo: I can't believe I managed to get trapped into this god awful scam of a marriage, even after fighting so hard against it!  
Rabanastre: …  
Penelo: I can't believe I was betrayed by a flippy haired little bastard who I thought was just as powerless and manipulated as me!  
Rabanastre: …  
Penelo: I can't believe I still haven't finished the hard-core _angsting!_  
Rabanastre: Yeah, we're on a schedule. Can you hurry it the hell up, already?

In Migelo's Sundries

Migelo: 'Sup, Sugar Thighs?  
Penelo: 'Sup, Scaly?  
Migelo: Your guest's gone asleep after humiliating you from a few territories away and you look like a couple thousand miles of rough, chocobo-dropping covered road. Anything you want to tell me?  
Penelo: Nothing at all… except that I'm about _this close_ to _choking a booty little bitch_ the next time his disturbingly pert eyelashes flutter anywhere close to me!  
Migelo: …  
Penelo: Anyway, off to get drunk and prove I'm hard-core some more. Pass on the message please.

In Hovel Sweet Hovel

Penelo: …Zzzzzzzz…  
Larsa: Stroke stroke stroke her hair, this isn't the least bit creep-y! Merrily merrily merrily merrily, hangovers feel crapp-y!  
Penelo: Oh… wow, that feels really nic… eeeep!  
Larsa: My darling bride to be! You're awake already!  
Penelo: …Oh god, then this _isn't_ just a horrible, horrible dream.  
Larsa: Watch as I demonstrate my keen sense of human nature by invading your personal space just when you feel most vulnerable to me!  
Penelo: Sweet lord, I'm supposed to put up with this bullshit with a smile for _how_ many more years?  
Larsa: Did you also know I planned on marrying you from the start but neglected to tell you because it gave me a better way to manipulate you?  
Penelo: …  
Larsa: Yep, apparently acting more like a sweet young boy with a crush than a conniving tyrant-to-be endeared me to you. Aren't you the least bit pleased?  
Penelo: If by pleased you mean 'prone to wrapping my hands around your scrawny shoulders and slamming you to a wall,' then yes! I'm _very goddamn pleased!_  
Larsa: Eeep!  
Penelo: What can I say, I'm trying to be innovative here.

**Chapter 10**:

In Penelo's Hovel

Penelo: You betrayed me!  
Larsa: Well, you lied to me!  
Penelo: You don't know who I am!  
Larsa: Well, you don't know the real me either!  
Penelo: I have a tragic past due to _your_ family's actions!  
Larsa: Well, my family being crazy war-mongerers isn't exactly coming up all roses for me!  
Penelo: You're opening my eyes to your struggle and motivations for wanting to get married and grow up faster than normal and I'm not sure I'm ready to handle that here!  
Larsa: We've both had to grow up too quickly! We're both still developing into the adults we desperately need to be! I'm only just coming to realize that I need to take your perspective from time to time! And are we done with acting like adolescent idiots here?!  
Penelo: Let me smack you up a bit and then we'll see!  
Larsa: Oh god, you only get more attractive when you fight dirty and act nothing like any of the boring and refined nobles I know all too well! Kiss me, darling!  
Penelo: Ack! Shouta alert! I'm hitting first you with a spell and then the road! Just you try and catch me!

**Side Story: Question and Compass**:

In Archades, Five Years Pre-Game

Vayne: Oh Larsa, you're just about the most adorable thing ever. I'll even make an exception to the whole slaughter-anyone-that-gets-in-the-way-of-m

y-objectives thing when it comes to you.  
Larsa: reply undecipherable  
Vayne: It is rather strange that you want me to get married before you even quite hit my knee-cap, however. Why is that?  
Larsa: reply undecipherable  
Vayne: You were trying to make me happy? That's so charming, Larsa! But I've already been married to an incredibly mad bitch from Rabanastre and I can't have kids anyway. You're pretty much my only family.  
Larsa: reply undecipherable  
Vayne: But not to worry. You'll rule after I'm done and I'll make sure you're happy with your wife-to-be… I mean, at least as long as you can keep from sticking your dick in the Dalmascan crazy.  
Larsa: reply undecipherable but its sounds as though it's full of _foreshadowing_

**Chapter 11**:

Somewhere near the Nebra

Penelo: Oh god, my life well and truly sucks!  
Banks of the Nebra: Oooh, I'm pretty.  
Penelo: I'm being forced into a marriage with this bizarre little kid who's even _more_ brilliant and more screwed up than I thought he would be!  
Banks of the Nebra: I'm an awesome piece of scenery.  
Penelo: I don't want to hurt him more but I don't want to spend the rest of my life picking up the pieces of his fragmented self esteem!  
Banks of the Nebra: Don't I make a nice contrast to the main character's inner thoughts?  
Penelo: I guess I just have to try and out-Solidor a Solidor by talking him into having a temporary marriage, doing my best to find some other chick for him while we're married and leaving him as soon as peace is established!  
Banks of the Nebra: You know you want less of her and more of me.

Larsa: Oh, Penelo, look. Aren't I so pitiful and sad looking that you pretty much _have_ to feel sorry for me! I swear, I didn't _not_ heal myself on purpose, or anything!  
Penelo: Oh my god, what _did_ that to you?!  
Larsa: Would you believe… evil poultry?  
Penelo: Let me heal you and apologize for losing what's left of my marbles. Hanging around you makes me lose track of my own sanity!  
Larsa: Oddly, quite a lot of people say that about me.  
Penelo: Well, I'm sorry I'm a bitch sometimes.  
Larsa: Well, I'm sorry I'm a prick all too many times.  
Penelo: And I'm afraid I'm gonna have to go and shatter your heart some more with the story of the older boy I loved and lost. Y'know… the one you have absolutely _no_ chance of measuring up to in any physical or emotional dimension here.  
Larsa: …Eeep!

**Chapter 12**:

After hearing Penelo's tragic tale of how she loved and lost Reks to war and vengeance...

Larsa: So you're trying to tell me that when you were, you fell in love with an older person too?  
Penelo: Yes!  
Larsa: And that that older person didn't love you the way you loved them?  
Penelo: Exactly!  
Larsa: And that was precisely why you ended up having your heart broken by the first boy you ever loved?  
Penelo: By jove, I think you're getting it here!  
Larsa: So... why, precisely, am I being asked to listen to this story?  
Penelo: ...  
Larsa: Because I don't care, Penelo! I want you and if I have to restructure the geopolitics of an entire continent and seduce another little boy or two to get my way, so be it!  
Penelo: In... in that case, can you do me a favor?  
Larsa: Que?  
Penelo: Would you do me the honor of marrying me and then please politely look the other way while I then do my best to leave your under-aged rear as soon as we establish peace in Ivalice?  
Larsa: You're lucky we Solidors have historically relied on others to interpret our fine print for us. And though there's a very strong bros-before-hos ethos in Archadia, all I can say is-- yes! Yes, my darling!  
Penelo: ...Huh. That went suspiciously well. I'm... actually going to properly execute a plan here?  
Larsa: Strangely enough, yes. But only after I rain you with the tempestuous passion of my tenderness. You will never look at chocobos the same way again, my dear!  
Penelo: Augh! By the flaming rear of Belias, someone come _help_ me!  
Basch and Balthier: Did someone call for us?  
Penelo: …Okay, fate. _Now_ you're just fucking with me.

* * *

And for a preview of the next chapter, which will hopefully come sometime in June...

* * *

Once upon a time, in a kingdom by the sea, there lived a girl, young and fair, whose mathematical computations were the toast of every merchant she would meet.

Practically since the cradle of her birth, her skills had been a sight to see. Before her teeth had even grew, before she could learn to suckle on much more than her mother's teat, she had been the sort of prodigy whose skills would astound many. Some would say it would surely the blood of her father's family coming to the forefront. An entire line of mercenary mages would have to inevitable culminate it _something_, be it wonderful or distressing. But other would argue that her strange talents at counting and coin-collecting were surely mere freak accidents of nature, simply the product of strange reasoning.

But none in the land could dispute that she was among the world's greatest prodigies. And none could dispute any of her other traits as well: that she was not only young but fair; that she was not merely bright but lovely. Her suitors were numerous and handsome and inevitably well connected, for who would not desire a jewel such as this beauty? She was bright and cheerful, sprightly and talented, playful and passionate, sweet and seductive, amiable and--

"Apparently also counting the money wrong," someone said over her shoulder with cheerful, malicious glee.

"Shut up Vaan," Penelo snapped, though she could already feel the beautiful bubble of her fantasy floating away already. "That's tough talk for someone who can't even count to eleven without involving his toes here."

"Maybe," he said, though he still sounded cheerfully smug. "But you've been at the register for a good twenty minutes and you _still_ haven't finished sorting everything."

"Like you could do any better," she replied, snorting, and gave him a good, hard kick of her heel even as she kept her eyes on the gil before her. But however annoying he might have been about reminding her of the facts, he was absolutely right. She _was_ counting everything in the Sundries' cash-box wrong and dawdling with closing up the shop for the night.

And for the life of her, she couldn't understand why either.

She might have been trumping up her skills a wee, teensy, eensy, almost completely insignificant fraction while she had been daydreaming. But it truly hadn't been without at least a _little_ bit of just cause. For while she really wasn't much to look at next to the average viera and her skills at dancing paled next to some of her colleagues (or, as the actual gil-girls went, _colleagues_) in the field, she really _was_ a damn good shop girl. Hell, would Migelo have nominated her as the Number One Sales Associate in Rabanastre for three years in the running if she hadn't been top-notch in her own, admittedly specialized field?

"That's true," Migelo said warmly, from somewhere behind her. "You always did have a knack for charming people when you feel the need."

Despite herself, Penelo almost had to smile and fight a rising blush on her cheek. "Thanks, Uncle. I swear it. That really means a lot to me."

But Vaan, perpetual kill-joy that he was, merely snorted at her words. "Yeah, you say that _now._ But you always have a bad habit of charming just the kind of people you _don't_ need."

Before she could even raid a protest, though, someone else came forward to defend her honor here. "Hey," Filo interrupted, her voice bright and sweet. "Maybe _she_ might not particularly want them but _we're_ still in need here. I think she's doing a really good thing!"

"You're only saying that," Kytes muttered bitterly beside her, "because you weren't duped by a couple of saucy eyelashes and a really great set of leggings."

Reks just sighed beside him. "It really _is_ always the leggings that get you in the end, isn't it? I wouldn't have done have the things I did if she didn't have a great pair either."

She wanted to turn back around and ask what the hell they were all talking about. She wanted to ask them how the hell they knew so much about what she was doing now. She wanted to ask them where the hell they even got off giving her advice, given how screwed up their lives were as well and how much she was giving up to do the _un_-screwing.

Hell, she'd be happy if she could just figure out where the hell they had all spontaneously _come_ from when she was sure she had locked the door of the Sundries, as she always did when she opened the register to check the day's earnings.

But she couldn't.

She just couldn't.

Because she couldn't stop counting the money wrong.

And she still didn't know what she was missing.

But when she turned around to ask any of them for some help in the matter-- or rather, to fetch more competent help with the matter-- her breath caught within her throat, clawing at the smooth skin there like a bird caught within a monstrous spider's trappings.

Somehow she thought she finally knew just what she hadn't been previously seeing.

* * *


	17. Chapter 13

I swear, I would have kept my vow to not post or haunt the halls of my usual internet fandom haunts again were it not for the fact that I woke up today and realized that: (a) my sister's coming home from the hospital after a week long stay and (b) this is the one-year anniversary of this series.

I've needed more than a little cheer in my life as of late, which is the reason why I've thrown caution to the winds and thrown up another chapter of Knots up for public view once again. I hope that it'll entertain by going back to the roots of the humor of the series and tossing a couple of dueling Archadians, one very nervous Dalmascan and one _very_ manly Landisler through some interesting times indeed.

And I definitely have to thank **logistikanyx**, **moontear** and **ladyvenn** in particular for helping me with the beta-ing of this bit. I wouldn't have finished at all if it weren't for them-- and especially if it wasn't for Logistika. She not only beta'd-- she actually sat down and helped me to write the entire second scene by providing more of Balthier's thoughts and actions and shaping the froofiest cat fight the world has ever seen. She honestly deserves co-author credit for the chapter you're currently looking at.

In any case, here's to another year of writing in the fandom! And thanks again to everyone who's been following this series. I wouldn't spend so much time writing this if your reviews and emails and AIM chats hadn't always been so encouraging. I'm always open to comments, criticism and questions-- and hearing back from people on my work is always lovely.

* * *

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, Chapter 13  
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII  
Series: Knots, Ties and Tides  
Characters/Pairings: Larsa/Penelo, Balthier, Basch  
Rating: PG-13 (Possibly higher for Baltheir's innuendo?)  
Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had _no_ idea that this was what Her Majesty had in mind...**

* * *

Once upon a time, in a kingdom by the sea, there lived a girl, young and fair, whose mathematical computations were the toast of every merchant she would meet.

Practically since the cradle of her birth, her skills had been a sight to see. Before her teeth had even grew, before she could learn to suckle on much more than her mother's teat, she had been the sort of prodigy whose skills would astound many. Some would say it would surely the blood of her father's family coming to the forefront. An entire line of mercenary mages would have to inevitable culminate it _something_, be it wonderful or distressing. But other would argue that her strange talents at counting and coin-collecting were surely mere freak accidents of nature, simply the product of strange reasoning.

But none in the land could dispute that she was among the world's greatest prodigies. And none could dispute any of her other traits as well: that she was not only young but fair; that she was not merely bright but lovely. Her suitors were numerous and handsome and inevitably well connected, for who would not desire a jewel such as this beauty? She was bright and cheerful, sprightly and talented, playful and passionate, sweet and seductive, amiable and--

"Apparently also counting the money wrong," someone said over her shoulder with cheerful, malicious glee.

"Shut up Vaan," Penelo snapped, though she could already feel the beautiful bubble of her self-aggrandizing fantasy floating away. "That's tough talk for someone who can't even count to eleven without involving his toes here."

"Maybe," he said, though he still sounded damnably smug. "But you've been at the register for a good twenty minutes and you _still_ haven't finished sorting everything."

"Like you could do any better," she replied, snorting, and gave him a good, hard kick of her heel even as she kept her eyes on the gil before her. But however annoying he might have been about reminding her of the facts, he was absolutely right. She _was_ counting everything in the Sundries' cash-box wrong and dawdling with closing up the shop for the night.

And for the life of her, she couldn't understand why either.

She might have been trumping up her skills a wee, teensy, eensy, almost completely insignificant fraction while she had been daydreaming. But it hadn't been without at least a _little_ bit of just cause. For while she wasn't much to look at next to the average viera and her skills at dancing paled next to some of her colleagues (or, as the actual gil-girls went, _colleagues_) in the field, she really _was_ a damn good shop girl. Hell, would Migelo have nominated her as the Number One Sales Associate in Rabanastre for three years in the running if she hadn't been top-notch in her own, admittedly specialized field?

"That's true," Migelo said warmly, from somewhere behind her. "You always did have a knack for charming people when you feel the need."

Despite her immensely large sense of modesty, Penelo almost had to smile and fight a rising blush. "Thanks, Uncle. I swear it. That really means a lot to me."

But Vaan, perpetual kill-joy that he was, merely grunted at her words. "Yeah, you say that _now._ But you always have a bad habit of charming just the kind of people you _don't_ need."

Before she could even raise a protest, though, someone else came forward to defend her honor here. "Hey," Filo interrupted, her voice bright and sincere. "Maybe _she_ might not particularly want them but _we're_ still in need here. I think she's doing a really good thing!"

"You're only saying that," Kytes muttered bitterly beside her, "because you weren't duped by a couple of saucy eyelashes and a really great set of leggings."

And Tomaj just sighed beside him. "It really _is_ always the leggings that get you in the end, isn't it? I wouldn't have done have the things I did if that bangaa didn't have a great set either."

She wanted to turn back around and ask what the hell they were all talking about. She wanted to ask them how the hell they knew so much about what she was currently doing. She wanted to ask them where the hell they even got off giving her advice, given how screwed up their lives were as well and how much she was giving up to do the _un_-screwing.

Hell, she'd be happy if she could just figure out where the hell they had all spontaneously _come_ from when she was sure she had locked the door of the Sundries, as she always did when she opened the register to check the day's earnings.

But she couldn't.

She just couldn't.

Because she couldn't stop counting the money wrong.

And she still didn't know what she was missing.

And when she turned around to ask any of them for some help in the matter-- or rather, to fetch more competent help-- her breath caught within her throat, clawing at the smooth skin there like a bird caught within a monstrous spider's trappings.

Somehow she thought she finally knew just what she hadn't been previously seeing.

"What's the matter?" Vaan asked, lopsided smile drooping off his face as his work-scarred fingers moved in a disturbingly familiar way over a new detail in his being. And beyond him lay something she had never thought to see again, something she had never been expecting.

Her mother was there and so was her father, their miraculously whole hands linked together as they beamed at their daughter, the pride in their eyes all but shining. Her brothers were there too, all three of them, weapons glittering at their sides as they stood before her, unbroken completely. Migelo stood to the side with his wife of fourteen years, he beaming as she caressed his tail with her own, both of them looking quietly happy. Kytes made horrible faces at Tomaj as Filo laughed and Kyte's victim looked resigned to his ordeals.

She could see almost everyone she had ever met there: family, companions, enemies. She could see Ashe standing silently at her husband's side, for once looking near content with the world at large, no longer at war with everything. She could see Basch and the figure of his unknown brother, eyes averted but hands folded in peace. She could see Balthier and Fran speaking in low tones to each other, trailed half-a-step by the long-gone viera who had taught her to dance before she had even quite been on her feet. She could see both her grandmothers and her grandfathers, as well as every single man or woman she had known in the past three generations of her family. She could see the quartet of bounty hunters that had captured her, tails flaring through the air as they argued amongst themselves bitterly. She could see the first man she had ever killed, as well as every man who had helped to bloody her hands, though even her first-- Ghis-- did not seem disturbed by his present company. She could see the little children who begged on the streets of Rabanastres and the gil-girl who used it to make their living. She could see every teacher she had ever had, ever warrior who had ever helped to teach her how to fight, every soldier who had ever enlisted besides her brothers, every phantom child of child of Reks she had hoped to have eventually.

She could even see Reks himself smiling wistfully behind his brother, hair face at peace and his arms at rest, looking sad and quiet and serene.

Beyond Vaan lay both her beloved living and her equally loved dead, all of them mingling easily. And for once, they were all as whole as they had ever, before the war had taken so many of them, so quickly.

And all of them looked almost as they always had-- except for one minor detail.

"Hey!" Vaan called out one last time, the most ridiculous black fright wig of all time jammed on top of his head, as it was on top of everyone else's-- even the bangaa who didn't sport a single strand of their own hair to begin with. "Can you stop staring and go back to work already? You're starting to make us feel kinda self-conscious here!"

* * *

She woke from her sleep with a quick gasp, jerking wildly as the last of her dream vision dissipated around her waking vision with disquieting difficulty.

And it _was_ a dream, she reminded herself, even as her fingers clawed at the rough, thin, poorly weaved blankets she was lying on currently. It was a dream and it _had_ to be. It might mean that her subconscious was ridiculous enough to use her precious sleep-time to send her bizarre visions of what it would be like if everyone she had ever loved and looked up to starting dressing up in little-lord-Solderoy drag, or what Migelo's bald blue palate would look like when covered in dark curls and waves. But still, it was nicer to believe that her subconscious had a mad mind of its own than to believe that the ghosts of her dead had decided to prank her en masse

It's just dream, she reminded herself, still shaking under her covers. It _had_ to be-- even if it said things about her sleeping mind that were a little bit... Well. A little bit dotty enough to make her wonder if a bit of Larsa really _had_ rubbed off on her, terrifying as the whole notion of 'Larsa' and 'physical activity' was to her currently. And now that she'd decided it was a dream-- and it was, it _was_, it had to be, because even if it was real (and maybe her brothers and Reks and Vaan would have been for pranking her, those jerks, but her parents would never have let them, no), the only thing left to do was to figure out was...

_Where the hell am I? And who the **hell** is touching me?!_

Because she was nowhere she recognized, on a bed she had never rested on before, with her blurry eyes opening up to take in an expanse of window that let through thin, piercing shafts of sunlight that managed to somehow only conceal everything around her more easily. She was nowhere she recognized and--

--in a _very_ bad case of deja vu, there was a foreign hand stroking the damp hair sticking to her sweaty cheeks--

And when she opened her eyes and saw a weft of dark hair wavering across her face, it was all that she could do not to

_smiling eyes and broken registers_

react like

_the feel of rough paper money_

a wild animal

_you look so silly with that on, Vaan_

panicking--

_i couldn't count correctly_

One heartbeat and she had a thin pair of shoulders trapped within her hands; another and she had whoever had been hovering on top of her on his back already. A third sent her sprawling awkwardly atop of whoever had been trying to ambush her, while a fourth found the thin blade she always hid in her boots already pointed at the white throat gleaming beneath her.

Most unfortunately of all, a fifth revealed exactly _who_ had sent her into spindle-fold-mutilate mode faster than Vaan did when he compared her chest to various surfaces of unimpressive depth over the last few years.

"I suppose," the most unfortunate human alarm clock in the world whispered, "it would have been wiser for me to have shouted an initial greeting?"

"Oh sweet flaming balls of Belias," Penelo whispered back to the one and only Larsa Ferrinas Solidor currently staring back at her-- _under_ her-- nervously.

But before she could do anything to right the current situation-- such as, say, make a mad dash for the hills while yelling at the top of her lungs, that sort of thing– the door the hut slammed open, bringing in what the cruel gods above had somehow decided were ideal visitors to the scene.

The first to enter was a youngish woman who was perhaps in her late twenties, her skin weathered by the harsh desert sun and her arms going slack around the fresh pillows she had been carrying. "Oh, my gods and espers spare me--" she squeaked, as her burden slid from her hands to the dirt of the bare floor below. "I simply heard a few noises and...assumed that...that you two were... that something had..."

And even as his signature gold embroidered pantaloons caught the light of the midday sun, the pirate Balthier still managed to outshine even that with the cocky calm of his ensuing smirk. "And indeed, madame, it appears that you have assumed more correctly than you had thought. But then, they always _did_ breed them to be precocious in Archades. Or promiscuous. I never did know the difference between those two descriptions, honestly."

Though Penelo hated to admit it (and was in fact already gearing herself up to line up with her 'old friend hysterical denial'-- had it _ever_ not helped her in the past?), she had to admit that they _almostkindasorta_ had the right to misunderstand was was currently… happening. She had gotten on top of Larsa to slit his throat, not stir his temperature-- but she was still technically on _top_ of him and in a highly compromising position, no matter what kind of sharp weapon she was wielding. (And knowing her luck, threatening people with knives might very well be considered a normal sign of affection in Archadia, or something.) But even before she could scramble off and deny what they thought was happening, she heard Larsa make a quiet, deeply indignant noise at the back of his throat. And then the little brat used her temporary state of questionable sanity to steer her around like a piece of driftwood, until she was lying besides him in the bed, as though curled up next to him to sleep.

Coming from a boy who she had casually slapped around just a few hours back, it was more than a little disconcerting. And while it wasn't nearly as weird as actually accidentally straddling him had been, it wasn't exactly comfortable either. Penelo would have taken this as her chance to kick up a fuss and possibly kick him as well-- had not the look in Larsa's eyes, currently directed at a target other than herself, promised a far more interesting battle to come shortly.

His next words confirmed her hunch. "Good morning to you as well, Ffamran," Larsa murmured, earnestness practically dripping off his tone. The attendant took her cue and fled before the storm, abandoning blankets with any last fragments of dignity. "I had a feeling someone would come for us soon enough, but had no idea _you_ would volunteer for that duty."

If there had been a moogle-made thermometer in the hut, Penelo had the hunch that the mercury within it would have plummeted on the instant that doubly-thick 'eff' hit the air. (Though she had no idea before that just one name in and of itself could sound both so grim _and_ goofy.) This-- this-- whatever this was, because she couldn't exactly work it out from the tenseness in Larsa's shoulders and the strangely forceful way Balthier was tugging at his cuffs-- was about to get mightily interesting...

But any hope she had for an immediate hissy fit was squashed as Balthier drawled in response: "Never let it be said that I would let a damsel in distress pine for my presence."

"Evidently," Larsa said, in a pure measured cadence uncannily like his brother's-- and though it might have just been the concussion but Penelo could have sworn she had actually seen Balthier _flinch._ "In fact, I see your chivalry even extends so far as to grace even damsels not in distress with the unbearable lightness of your being."

Balthier targeted those brilliant eyes of his -- looking eerily like Larsa's, as a matter of fact) right _at_ her. "Forgive me, Larsa," he said, (but he kept smiling at her), "but you're presumptive to think that it's Penelo that needs my rather prominent grace to fall upon her." His eyes flicked to Larsa, who still looked rather ruffled from the inadvertent wrestling match he'd had with her. "After all, from what I could see, perhaps the appellation of damsel in distress belongs to someone other than she."

Almost despite herself, Penelo found herself nervous glancing at the scowl currently etched across Larsa's face. Somehow, though he apparently had a habit of taking advantage of being seen as a girl for all it was worth (as a crowd of Rabanastran hoodlums who couldn't understand the nature of dance and a soon-to-be-heart-broken Kytes demonstrated quite well), she rather had a feeling that he wouldn't take actually being called on it well. And judging from the way his fists were tightening against her hips, she knew she had judged correctly.

"Bunansa," Larsa murmured, the chill of his voice as startling as a glacier in the middle of the desert, "I request that you leave, because anything further that passes your lips might be bordering on treason. Speaking of _your_ future emperor in such a manner does not become you well."

Penelo's heart rose rather quickly to the back of her throat; if Larsa had _already_ started to talk of that, this might get _especially_ nasty soon.

"Ah," said Balthier simply replied with a certain airy delicacy, "always a risk when one plays on both sides of the border. Such a threat is not one to move me to my knees, Solidor. A request, however--"

Penelo twitched. If Balthier left, she'd be in here alone with Larsa again. A mildly angry Larsa. A Larsa who could, when in a strong enough tizzy, toss her about like an old piece of driftwood. A Larsa who, judging from the slight twitch forming on his left-eye-lid, had a lot of vitriol to expend as of now.

She'd seen how he could blabber on and on when he was actually in a _good_ mood. Based on that, she wasn't sure her eardrums could survive him when he honestly felt crossed and worth crossing.

"You see, my dear lord, your future empress seems unwilling to be left alone," Balthier murmured, which-- while perfectly true-- Penelo rather felt ought to have been left alone. (God knows _she_ didn't want to be dragged into a fight between two of the poutiest prats she had ever known. Larsa was only twelve, however mature he might have pretended to be-- what was Balthier's excuse?) "Penelo knows that I'm not one to abandon a friend no matter how wild the party or how drunk the lass, not when she's trapped amongst those who might… take advantage of her."

Oh. _Snap._ Balthier winked at her, Larsa almost hissed, and Penelo felt interested almost in spite of her own common sense. Admittedly, those bangaa bounty hunters (thankfully) hadn't got fresh with her…but Larsa sure had. Balthier tugged at his cuffs again, flexing shoulders; Larsa crossed his own arms, the bell of his sleeves puffing. She wasn't sure who'd crumble first. In the current battle of shirt versus blouse, both sets of sleeves were roughly on equal value of poof.

(Which was, frankly, excellent if only for the fact that she wasn't sure who'd count as shirts and who'd be blouses, considering how many ruffles they _both_ donned on as a matter of course.)

Still, maybe Balthier had rather underestimated the acid fortitude of Solidor blood. She could understand that; she'd made the same mistake-- though at least she had been smart enough to start regarding Larsa as about as harmless as a teddy bear rigged with barbed wire and poison venom already. Apparently, Balthier hadn't quite cottoned on. And even as the older man spoke, Larsa's lip curled, and the way his eyes dragged down Balthier's frame in a way that suggested that mounting Balthier on a spit and serving him for supper wouldn't be too outlandish an idea.

"Truly," Larsa remarked, the little statesman always, "it is heartening to hear that my future wife inspires such devotion, across all ranges of hume classes and vagrancies as well. Still, the information obtained in the capital indicates that it was less Penelo's appearance required at that particular party, and more yours that incited the bangaa's desperate desire to…how shall I put this…bugger you around as an old pal should?"

Oooh. _Snap_. And a _half_. Balthier barely hid his recoil. Whether or not Larsa knew what that word meant (and she wasn't sure if she wanted him to know or not, because if he did, then at least she wouldn't have to explain, and she couldn't believe she just thought that, what was happening to her, she had never wanted to think this deeply about the quality of sexual education available to Archadian princes, _ever, ever, ever_), it had Balthier's smile stutter a little.

(If she had been a worse person, Penelo might have almost snickered at that. Apparently, a few little observations _she_ had made about B'ga… B'gama... B'gaga... B'garganzola… whatever the hell his name was and the rest of his cue hadn't been so off the mark either.)

Not that this particular pirate was cornered just yet. He merely bowed in mock deference and continued on. "You would make a very poor emperor, little prince, if you went about repeating the words of every scurrilous street ear you meet. After all, this leading man's yet to hear a complaint from the ladies...or—" he smirked, "--have a knife put to his throat from any woman he has apparently tussled with most unwillingly."

Not for the first time, Penelo found herself wondering if it was possible to work out a way to _will_ her head to explode to avoid being pulled into the froofiest cat fight she had ever seen. On the whole, if this was the sort of thing she had to look forward to when she was around Archadians all the time, death itself might be a kindness and a victory.

"True," Larsa said, gritting his teeth in a way that almost seemed to signal defeat-- which struck Penelo as odd, seeing as how _she_ had certainly never seem him do so before. He had always struck her as the sort of person that wouldn't let anything as piddling as mere facts or common sense get in his way presently. "But..." Ooh, she never trusted Larsa when _that_ little smile graced his face-- "...I suppose that only makes sense for the leading man. After all, Captain fon Ronsenberg always _has_ been a favorite of the ladies."

All of a sudden, Penelo's mind had a sudden and vivid image of a pair of blood-strained frills _flying_ through the air eventually. But before she could cover her eyes or finish placing bets on the outcome (Balthier was bigger but Larsa seemed a lot more scrappy; Balthier had Fran and everything _that_ implied but Larsa could conceivably call on an entire army...), the most beautiful possible distraction of all time fortuitously entered the scene.

He walked in beauty like the night, composed of imperial fleets and starry skies, with all that was best of dark and bright meeting in his aspect and in his eyes. He could have been compared to a summer's day, were it not that his face were yet more golden and gay, and that the rough winds that did shake the darling buds of May would have no hold on him. Death could not brag of wandering in his shade, nor of having swept by what accruements he had made, and she would have given anything to have been laid by he, he, _he_.

The cavalry had officially arrived to the war-zone. And it looked _amazing_.

But just before Penelo could trickle out of the bed of floofery and death and towards the salvation of perhaps the last sane man she had ever met, Captain Basch fon Beautiful smiled and said just the words she felt that she had been awaiting all her life to hear.

"Is anyone here," he murmured in a husky murmur that could have sent legions of ladies underwear flying through the air from Ambervale to Archades, "feeling the least bit hungry?"

* * *

And that was how, half an hour later, Penelo found herself munching on fish kebabs on the coast with the best looking man she had ever seen across from her and a pair of swishy human powder-puffs staring intently at each other from opposing sides of a cheap wicker table, as though waiting to see which of them would first spontaneously combust from the cloud of styling products and gilded finery that followed the both of them around near incessantly.

Lunch had finally arrived, with a nice table-spread of regional Estesand delicacies to accompany a side of incredible social awkwardness and the sort of deep, scarring humiliation that was already quite literally already haunting Penelo in her dreams. And honestly if she hadn't just passed the most surreal week of her life, she probably wouldn't be handling the situation as well as she was at present.

Actually, under normal circumstances, she had the feeling that watching a pair of foreigners draw blood with their tongues while she learned of how she had ended up comatose and half-molested by the terminally under-aged and over-sexed, she probably would have already run off shrieking into the night already. (Possibly while gibbering about the intrusive effects of kicky purple tights into her life like a woman assaulted by a pair of sentient, royal-hued hosiery.) But she was finally odd enough to appreciate the humor of the former and jaded enough to have realize that she could have had worse done to her than the latter. (Though her terror of chocobo-flavored kisses hadn't quite worn off here and she still flinched whenever Larsa turned to her in a manner most distinctly peck-y.)

So for the time being, she simply kept her mouth occupied with clams from the table, her ears engaged with listening to just how she had gotten into her recent predicament (something about being knocked out by the local members of the animal kingdom because she and Larsa had apparently -- gods _help_ her-- disturbed their habitats with _certain_ actions that had taken place short before her unfortunately incomplete beheading) and her eyes enraptured in staring at the most righteous man she had ever wanted to engage in quasi-incest with, damned be duty and country.

After the furious amount of shouting and debate she'd engaged in during the last few days, it was almost soothing to be able to slip back into her customary role as a furiously listening presence who kept quiet when more important people (that is: everyone in their little party but Vaan) were speaking. And in light of all that, perhaps she could be forgiven for being distracted in the pivotal moment to come, too caught up in the rush of a roasted piece of bread and the equally delicious glimpses of golden thighs and calves that Basch inadvertently kept giving her to notice when the conversation drifted from her to her-and-Larsa and the prince himself began to speak.

In fact, shot nerves be damned, she only began to pay attention once she heard the key words _lustrous loveliness_ and _exquisite hip movements_ and _incomparable nobility_ shoot out of Larsa's mouth as he batted his lashes at her like a cheap whore being paid on retainer and went on to recount a version of their history. And even that probably wouldn't have been so very bad-- hell, at this point, even _she_ could have done with a recap-- if only his version of history didn't seem so… skewed.

And also, more than a little inaccurate.

And also, disturbingly prone to lingering more on how absolutely perfect she and Larsa were for each other than, say, how _absolutely insane_ the plan to engage them had been from its misbegotten infancy and how much trickery had been included from _both_ of their ends to accomplish it.

And when Larsa paused in his recitations to twinkle at her knowingly even as Basch and Balthier slowly turned to stare at her with no small degree of amazement, amusement and morbid fascination, Penelo knew there was only one thing she could do to save herself right here.

"Dear Gods," she murmured to any heavenly beings that might even now be plotting her end. "It's Penelo. Why haven't you already struck me down with lightning yet?"

* * *

But in fact, despite her urgent pleas, Penelo did not find herself expiring within the next thirty minutes of mad-prince-monopolized conversation. She still desperately wished to, however, especially when Larsa began to go on rapturous flights of ill-conceived poetic fancy where he compared her hips to the pistoning engine of an imperial war cruiser (disturbing), her palm to a sweet yet immensely powerful oar made of human flesh (_extremely_ disturbing) and her lips to a precious relic that needed to be stored away from the outside world lest some evil field damage their sanctity (possibly the most disturbing image Penelo had ever been exposed to, in a very strong contest that included visions of war, plague, pestilence, death and Vaan's over-ripe, morning-time underwear.)

Clearly, Larsa hadn't quite mastered the poetic tongue that had blessed his brother's near-coronation in Rabanastre just a few short months ago. But he _had_ apparently gotten ahold of Vayne Solidor's talent for propaganda and was deploying it skillfully as he painted a picture of his epic love for Penelo that somehow stretched days into months, months into years, a few odd bits of actual enjoyment into transcendental moments of happiness and a disturbing tussle on the beach into the sort of rapture that came over Ashe when she saw an enemy whose eye perfectly belonged on the sharp end of a stick.

Finally, Larsa was finally winding up. "And after she learned of my perfidy," he said with a troubling amount of sincerity, "she struck me with a blow that could have felled that overgrown lizard that still haunts Dalmasca-- no, Penelo, _not_ your dear Migelo-- in a manner that literally stole my breath-- as much from her daring and her breathtaking honesty as from the intense pain that such beautiful weapons of precision somehow handed…"

Penelo stared at her hands with blank surprise. She had never before had to think of her hands as actual, lethal weapons.

"But yet," Larsa went on with brisk, manly sorrow, "I cannot blame her for her passion! After all, were I a better man-- a noble man-- a more sincere man-- a more _honest_ man--"

"Or even a man at all," Balthier muttered in a sullen undertone that sent her dear Basch frowning in a manner that sent some of the village men, nearly all of the village women and an odd percentage of the village children watching them warily from nearby out-posts all but swooning to their ends.

"A _better_ man," Larsa continued on with his nose hoisted high into the air, "I would have told her of my intentions to wed her plainly, in a manner that would have shown her that I and I alone was the architect of all my dreams. I would have informed her that her radiant beauty, thrilling charm, wonderful sense of humor, incredible kindness and astounding vivacity enchanted me so that I knew I could settle for no less a woman to be my wife-- my bride-- the _mother of my country_ when I finally ascend to the treacherous heights of the ruler of my land!"

"Um," Penelo reluctantly speaking for nearly the first time in the conversation. She really would have preferred to keep silent, especially as she was feeling not in the least beautiful, charming, humorous, kind or vivacious-- but the batted lashes Larsa had sent in her direction begged for some sort of acknowledgement. "Er. Yes. What he said."

"In which case," Basch murmured, speaking slowly for the first time since Larsa had launched on his mad tirade, "it seems as though you and your… lady are getting on well then?"

For Larsa, that was probably an understatement. But since Basch actually seemed to be addressing her as well, Penelo opened her mouth to speak with some actual enthusiasm. But unfortunately, overcome as she was by the sheer presence of her Captain Oh Captain's manliness, Larsa rather beat her to the punch.

"Oh very," he assured them all. "Very, _very_ much so. I doubt either of us could be more splendidly happy with this arrangement and I'm sure all will be able to deduce that merely from the delicate flush already coloring my Penelo's sweet face--"

"And also, the fact that you didn't actually allow her to answer the question," Balthier pleasantly interrupted.

Thrown off his poetic stride, Larsa narrowed his eyes in a manner that suggested he either had to squint to see his adversary in the desert sun or that he was attempting to send his opponent's head flying off through the power of mental telekinesis. Archadians being what they were, either could have fit the current conversation.

"I was," the prince answered with cold precision, "merely making a point of demonstrating how wonderfully Penelo allows her excitement about our future nuptials shine through her demure demeanor. This, as well as the historical chronicle of our romance that I have just practiced--"

"You mean the fairy tale propaganda you shall use to brainwash the masses," Balthier rather nastily-- there was really no other verb to describe it-- _ejaculated_ into the middle of Larsa's sentence.

Larsa seemed to twinkle through sheer force of will just then. "_Exactly_, my ever so dear companion. Her delicate responses, my open enthusiasm, our political reasons and the fairy tale-- or rather, _history_-- that I've concocted out of the facts of the matter will surely be enough to garner the enthusiastic support of most of my fellow country men. Though I'm quite sure that you, of all people, know of just how very elitist the gentry in Archades can be--"

"That is," Balthier interrupted blithely once more, "rather like pointing out that the sun is a tad warm, the sky hangs rather high and at least three of your honorable ancestors are known for attempting to mount chocobos through the wrong end."

Oh my. Apparently, her dear actual-uncle Mortimor apparently had his counterparts among Royal Archadians.

Regardless of the sudden similarities reveled in her family line and his, Penelo rather expected Larsa to startle at that. And indeed he did-- but only for a moment, before his own lips curled into a vicious grin that rather answered Balthier's own. "Common enough knowledge, my lord sky pirate. Though I suppose you would know better than most… seeing as how _that_ side of the family contributed to your misbegotten family tree as well."

There was a long and rather terrible silence; Penelo wanted rather desperately to curl up into a fetal ball and not think about how many men she had apparently already mentally committed quasi-incest with.

Luckily, with an exquisite sense of tact, Basch finally mustered up the sense to cough and go on as though high noon at the too-clever-for-their-own-good corral hadn't already commenced. "Nonetheless, the two of you both seem like sensible and responsible children. I'm sure that, despite your relative inexperience, you've both attempted to logically resolve any problems you might have had?"

Any other man that called her would have probably been picking his teeth out of his trousers in the next few minutes. But when _Basch_ said it... Penelo sighed and tried to put off the disturbing revelation that had come to light the moment before by imagining some beautiful world where she needed to sex him up in the service of god, crown and kingdom.

"Yes," she murmured with far more fervor than before, trying to keep both mad and apparently interrelated Archadians out of her peripheral vision to only focus on the only other sane member of her party for one dreamy, lingering moment. "I swear, uncle, that I've been really _very_ logical about this-- very logical and responsible and everything else I can. In fact, I've been so very logical and responsible you could practically name me after it. Like… Logistika Responsibilita… or something just like that!"

Basch gave her a rather indulgent smile as a response; somewhere within her trousers, Penelo could have sworn her ovaries responded with a deep, resounding cheer.

"And it was with _that_ reasonableness," Larsa summed up with one last smug sigh and one last flutter of his lashes, "that my darling and I reconciled to our fate as the future mother and father of our nation. And _that_, my dear fellows-- though I suppose _some_ of you might answer to less respectable sobriquets--"

The grin that Balthier gave at that truly _did_ scare her a bit.

"--But nonetheless, that does not change my basic point," Larsa went on, though his hair was starting to look _distinctly_ ruffled in light of all of this. "We have come together and really, though I thank you for your kindness and your… _kindness_, we really require no more from either of you than safe passage to our next destination. Shall we set out from here, then, and move to the next leg of our plan?"

And as though it were a signal that bypassed her entirely, they all-- sane or insane, tall or short, attractive or otherwise, turned to look at her as though to finally garner her approval on leaving, as though she and she alone held the answer to their question.

"If you're feeling all right--" Basch began, just as Larsa began to murmur "If your head finally has recovered from the fall" and even Balthier began to mutter something about how the unholy union that was to come could stand to be delayed for a few more days if she was not yet up to garnering the maddest royal house in Ivalice as her own family just then.

And it was then that she realized that if she wanted to, she really could delay this for just a bit. She could ask for further rest, or claim that her head was still pounding viciously beneath her tired eyes, or beg for just a few more hours in bed before the long trudge back to Rabanastre had to be undertaken.

But what would that buy her, even if she could stretch this precious time in her own kingdom for as long as Larsa was patient? A few more days mourning her loss of everything? A few more hours pretending that her life wasn't going to change? A bit more contempt and pity from Balthier? A bit more gentle but useless bits of kindness from Basch? And perhaps even further suspicion about her motives from Larsa, which was the very last thing she needed now that she actually _would_ marry him?

Because she was going to do that-- there was no way to turn back. She really _was_ going to go to Archades, she really _would_ leave her home in Rabanastre for years (if not forever), and this really _would_ lead to her being the 'mother' of a foreign land where the conquest of smaller country that had never done them any harm could be accomplished on the mere whim of some badly-dressed bastard with bad hair and propensity for bat wings on his britches.

She was going to go. No one could help her out of this. And though she really didn't have any sort of overpowering beauty or charm or humor or kindness outside the fervid dreams of a boy who had read far too many ten-gil romance novels growing up, there was no sense in putting off what was to come here.

She had, after all, promised herself that she was finally going to have a hand in writing whatever story held her within it. And right now, she felt more than motivated enough to damn whatever consequences that goal might have.

"Lets," she said, and rose from her seat, eyes wide and heart pounding and a sense of adventure stirring deep within her flesh. And when Larsa beamed and Basch's smile widened and even Baltheir's eyes narrowed just a little in their frames, she thought she finally was doing what she needed. "Let's get out of here and move onto something new. I think I finally know what I'm doing at long last."

* * *

**  
Author's Note:** And now that this is done, I must ask: shirts versus blouses. Who's on what team and who won the overall argument? ;)

And since this is something that's been nagging me, I wanted to toss this out as a silly debate question. Where do you fall on the being-married-to-the-over-eager-12-year-old spectrum? Do you feel as though Penelo ought to simply give in and give up and call it a day on marrying Larsa? Or continue to scheme get out of her predicament like a proper Archadian noblewoman? Or some combination of all of the above? I've been getting a wide range of views on this issue in the past so I thought it'd be interesting to ask everyone!

* * *


	18. Lost Chapters, Part 1

Knots is dead. Long live Knots. But at the very least, I thought I might as well give an explanation for how it all winds up.

Essentially, I'm sorry to finally have to throw in the towel as far as the **Knots, Ties and Tides** series is concerned, due to a combination of a lack of time and interest in continuing to write it. And frankly, though I still love the damn thing like a mother might love a deformed child, I honestly think Knots, Ties and Tides was essentially a failure as a piece of fiction. The plot was at least quite unique and the characters were ridiculously fun to write and hopefully to read-- but my pacing for the story was completely off. I spent around 80,000 words to set up the first pivotal event of the story-- Penelo and Larsa heading to Mt. Bur Omisace-- and after 13 chapters, _still_ haven't managed to get them there. Frankly, I think writing any more would have tired both myself and the readers out, so I've decided to wrap up the series once and for all.

But for all that, I know there are a few kind souls out there who want to know how it ends, and for their sake, I wanted to use this time to run down the major events that take place between the end of chapter 13 and the final defeat of Vayne Solidor on the Bahamut. I know this is a little bit of a cheat to do it all in two compress chapters-- but I promise to do this as entertainingly as a summary format will allow me, with bits and pieces of actual scenes sprinkled into the text. And at the least, it would allow me to wrap up the series with an actual epilogue that will catch up with everyone in the series a good ten years after it closes with Vayne's defeat. I'm looking forward to that and I hope you are too. ;)

For those of you who might have gotten a little lost with the series, it might be helpful to read Knots, Ties and Tides in Fifteen Minutes, Part 1, Knots in Fifteen, Part 2 and Chapter 13 to get up to speed.

And so without further ado...

**Title: Knots, Ties and Tides, The Lost Chapters, Part 1  
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII  
Series: Knots, Ties and Tides  
Characters/Pairings: Larsa/Penelo, Basch, Balthier, Vaan, Reks, Ashe, Gran Kilias, Vayne  
Rating: PG-13  
Summary: When Ashe asked Penelo to make a sacrifice for Dalmasca's sake, she had no idea that this was what her Queen had in mind...  
Note: Spans the time between the end of Chapter 13 of the series to the end of the game.**

* * *

1. Picking up from chapter 13, Larsa and Penelo are escorted to Rabanastre by Basch and Balthier, both of whom have certain clashing... agendas as to why they took the mission to bring the children to Mount Bur Omisace in the first place. Larsa, meanwhile, takes his sweet time loitering in the desert to look for the creature that previously roughed him up and had reduced him to having only half the neck ruffles he had began the journey with-- only to take an even sweeter time when he confronts it again with Basch, Balthier and Penelo as backup.

* * *

**Snippet**:

Penelo looked up warily from the giant desert turkey Larsa had spent the last few minutes poking holes into with his rapier while looking positively bloodthirsty "Gods, Larsa, that's just creepy! Aren't you supposed to be a prince of peace or something?"

He simply looked up, smiled serenely, and wiped a speck of feather off his once-more-inflating sleeves. "I don't believe I am under any obligation to act as such to evil poultry."

* * *

2. Eventually, they arrive in Rabanastre and Penelo shows them to where they will stay in her hovel sweet hovel, still fluttering happily over having _the_ Basch fon Ronsenberg staying in her residence, whilst Balthier thinks of quips to later taunt him relentlessly with. (_"My, my, my good man. Someone clearly took the 'oh captain, my captain' part of the Dalmascan oath seriously."_) Eventually, after an uneventful and rather depressing evening spent packing, Basch quietly informs her that he wishes to speak to her after the others in their party fall asleep-- which naturally sends Penelo off on a tizzy, given that he's the first attractive male with fully articulated testicles to express interest in her in _years._

3. Unfortunately for Penelo, Basch is more surprised and puzzled by her attempts to dress up in her somewhat-droopy dancer's outfit and sneak out for a midnight rendezvous with him at one of the sidewalk cafes of Rabanastre, though he gallantly offers her his chest-obscuring tea-cozy to cover her scandalously exposed midriff with. (She declines, incidentally.) And she in turn, is surprised by the real reason he invited here here-- to talk about how hard her life would be if she went ahead with this plan, with Basch assuming she feels far more ready for it than she really is. Since he doesn't know that she has actually fought tooth and nail to slip out of this arrangement, he assumed that she would be just as hasty in accepting being empress as she had been in following Ashe's entourage weeks earlier. And given the time he has spent in training both Vaan and Penelo to get them up to speed, he's well aware of the often hasty and impulsive way she makes decisions when she feels as though she might be left behind by those she loves. He doesn't want her to ruin her life with a rushed decision she makes when she's too young to know the consequences it will have on her. In a way, Basch sees her as being the embodiment of what he had been as a 17-year-old soldier who had left his home-- a child who had been too young to realize the cruelty of the world and yet, all too eager to embrace it.

4. However, Penelo surprises him by telling him of the _true_ story of how she ended up in her current predicament, absent Larsa's verbal flourishes and outright propaganda (as seen in Chapter 13). And when Basch hears of how reluctant she is to become Larsa's bride and how much she dreads going to Archadia, he tells her that if she would like... he would be willing to deflower her (or whatever few petals of virtue she has left) and make her unsuitable for a royal bride, should she have no other way to escape. Though touched and far more eager for his touch than she ever was for Larsa's, after thinking about his offer, Penelo has to turn him down. She's already been deforested by Reks-- and Larsa shrugged that off easily enough. And even if she took him up on the offer, she reminds Basch that Dalmasca would still lose its finest hope for a bloodless peace after two years of occupation. And though neither of them broach the subject, Penelo knows that he would very quickly regret doing what he did, both for personal reasons (she wasn't blind to the silent but potent grief Basch displayed after Vossler's death and knows she inspires nothing like that in him) and for the sake of Dalmasca. And Penelo finally acknowledges the final reason that she will go through with this wedding.

* * *

**Snippet**:

"After all," she whispered, and the palm he had placed in the middle of their table felt so warm when she covered it with her own. "You've suffered more than almost anyone else I know. And you've seen what we've all gone through in these last few years. Do you really think that trying to save me from a little boy is worth giving up any hope for helping all that heal?"

"When it is the life of a young girl at stake," he murmured-- and his eyes were sacrosanct and sad as he gazed down at her-- "it should be. Would you have me enrich my own life by impoverishing yours? Do you believe I could easily stand making a child bear the weight of my burden?"

And she laughed and touched the corner of his eye with her free hand, feeling far older than she had ever been. "Well, unless you magically become a pretty girl, I'm afraid I might have to at this one alone, Uncle. I mean, especially since Larsa seems more into my type than big, burly men."

"More's the pity," he replied, and the corner of his mouth wavered into a slow, proud curve, torn between grimace and laugh. "Given the chance, I might have made a fine empress-- though I am sure you could easily best me at such."

"I'll probably wear those big, fancy, ball gowns better," she agreed, though her fingers wavered as they traversed the well worn path down his scar to his sunken cheek, knowing what he was really trying to say. "I'll wear them well and I'll wear them proudly-- though you and everybody else better come and see me when I do. And-- when the time comes, you'll be there for me-- for the both of us-- right? I mean, since I won't have my family to be with me and-- and I guess I always thought of you as a sort of-- I mean-- you and Vaan and Fran and Balthier and even Ashe--"

"I will," he said, and his hands were gentle as he cupped her face and curved it for the first-- and only-- kiss he would ever give her, fluttering gently against the line where her skin met hair. "I will be with you as a friend for as long as I can, Penelo. Whatever else the world may do to you, I-- and Vaan, and Fran and Balthier, and even our Lady Ashe-- will be there. For as long as we possibly can."

* * *

Afterwards, Penelo and Basch retire again to their quarters, with Penelo spending much of the night tossing and turning in her cot, wondering what the hell might happen to her next.

5. The next day is spent finalizing plans for her leaving, with Penelo taking the time to say one last goodbye to her father-figure Migelo and her friends, while fielding some highly disturbing inquiries from Filo about the hot, flippy-haired lesbian who was new in town and from Kytes about where his little Larlita had been. However, a snag comes up when the party is about to use the teleport gate crystal in Rabanastre to instantly go to the village of the viera. Somehow, Balthier ended up being the only member of the party who had the particular stons to activate the crystals... and he very _accidentally_ manages to take only Penelo to the location-- leaving a highly irate Larsa and worried Basch to hike the rest of the way there.

6. As Penelo soon finds out to her dismay, however, said accident was no accident at all... and Balthier has more than a few choice words to tell her about her marrying into House Solidor, however much she might have struggled against it. In fact, he tells her straight away that she's being a ridiculous idiot to think about marrying into the Solidor family, whatever Larsa might have promised her to get into his figurative (and future) bed. Vayne Solidor is _not_ the sort to be controlled until death itself gets a grip on him-- and he's already had a great deal of practice in evading that particular fate as of yet, despite Balthier's previous best attempts. With almost brutal honesty, he predicts that if she marries into the Solidor line even a moment before Vayne is cold in the ground, she'll be dead in less than a year. And though Penelo is furious enough by what she believes is his attempts to demean her and make her appear weak, she's also terrified by how Balthier edges closer and closer to losing control as he goes on and on about what Vayne could do to break her down until she had nothing left.

* * *

**Snippet:**

"He _enjoys_ your sort, Penelo," Balthier nearly spat, the corners of his mouth turning up as a mad dog's might as he did so. "Pretty and rebellious and naive and easily molded and you couldn't find a finer tool to place in his hands if you died trying to. You've spent the entirety of your short, hopeless life letting other people push you from place to place, deciding on who you are and what you'll do and who you'll do it with. And if you don't believe he'll take one look into your prim little face and know how to use you--"

"How _dare_ you," she interrupted in a near serpentine hiss, feeling her fingers curl into fists as she watched him go on, a nervous and terrible heat building up within her palms, already singeing the tender skin here. "How dare you say those things to me! How dare you think I'll _let_ that happen to me, that I'm _stupid_ enough to listen to a word he might say! How _dare_ you think that he can--"

And then Balthier's handsome face twisted into the ugliest expressions she had ever seen on it-- one strange and uncertain and bathetic enough to make the growing heat snuff out of her hands as though they had been pressed against glass.

She'd never seen that look on _him_ before, though she had seen it reflected back at her often enough in her mirrored glass. And though it wasn't alien-- wasn't unrecognizable-- wasn't even necessarily unexpected--

She simply supposed she had never thought he could be mortal enough to feel it.

To her, Basch had always seemed, somehow, to be beyond a pain so elemental. And it terrified her now, to see him show it.

"He's done it before," Balthier finally said, when his throat seemed to unclench enough to let him whisper it. "And when he sees the girl who stole his brother from him, he'll make sure to do it again."

* * *

Needless to say, on top of all of her other worries, Penelo has to refocus back to the problem of Vayne Soldior and how successful Larsa's plan of "isolating" him in the future might be, given that Larsa would probably refuse to kill him unless something truly drastic occurred. She had merely thought she might be facing a long, miserable life if she married Larsa-- she had no idea it might be cut short in the bargain.

7. After another incredibly uncomfortable day spent in the company of a Balthier who seems to have lost his taste for words at long last, Penelo is unspeakably happy to actually see Basch and Larsa again, though she's also extremely stunned to see that Larsa has somehow taken to wearing his _own_ chest-obscuring tea-cozy, though it remains uncertain as to whether he did so because he had been so impressed by how pleasantly normal Basch was or because he had mistakenly thought it to be the secret of Basch's female-attracting success. After a short struggle, Penelo finally takes the tea cozy away from Larsa and the entire party heads out to Mount Bur Omisace, with Basch and Balthier falling back to speak among themselves and allowing Penelo and Larsa privacy.

8. Penelo attempts to speak to Larsa about her new concerns about his brother murdering her as soon as the wedding veil slips off of her hair. However, though he's boyishly happy to see her again and hovers over her to make sure Balthier hasn't somehow harmed her helpless little self, his normal devotion to her crumbles more than a little in the face of her attempting to speak of his brother. Though he's clearly attempting to avoid being slapped head-first into a bank of ice by an irate fiancée, he's also very clear that his brother is just as dear to him as Penelo herself is. (If not, honestly, more so.) He's not blind enough to have missed that his brother has long been in decline of his sanity-- after all, he already realizes that if it proves "necessary", Vayne would gladly allow the tragedy that had happened to Nabudis to happen to Rabanastre or Ambervale. However, Larsa still desperately loves and clings to the apparently more fair, kind, and loving older brother Vayne had been in the past and seeks to simply... bottle his brother up when he goes into power, until Vayne becomes better. In fact, one of the reasons that Larsa wants to be married so much is to shore up his family-- to have a reason to keep his brother alive (since being married would make him more 'adult' and hopefully give his supporters a reason not to kill the rival heir, Vayne) and to grant his sickly, dying father the strength to hold on to life in hopes of having grand-children around him.

* * *

**Snippet**:

"I was hoping we could name our first son Gramis and our next Vayne," Larsa said, and his brown freckles stood in stark relief within his shuddering cheeks, against the flurry of snowflakes swirling past him in the air. "And my father and my brother-- they will love our children, I _know_ they will love our children, as greatly and tenderly as they have loved me. How ever else they may be m-monstrous, they can at least accomplish that much."

She didn't know what to say so she said nothing at all, her fingers coming to rest with a tremble on her breast. The beat of her heart could not be any more furious than his eyes had been just a moment previous, when he had seen that she had wanted his brother... vanished.

They _were_ monsters, of a sort, these men. But they would love her likely love her children, should they be Larsa's as well.

She didn't know what to even think of that.

"We shall all be a family again," he reassured her, as though it had been something for which she had asked. "And my father will live and my brother will live and nobody need ever die in our world. Nobody need ever be killed or hurt. We can make them all endure yet."

* * *

Needless to say, Penelo has yet another difficult thought to dwell on and even more reason to realize why the marriage would be necessary beyond reasons of personal (un)attraction. And with even more knowledge of how desperately lonely and painful Larsa's life has been, and why he was driven to arrange a wedding to a very average peasant girl in the first place, Penelo can draw yet more parallels between her own need to feel accepted and to belong to a family and Larsa's need to shore up his pathetically fragmenting clan. And with that in mind, Penelo finally holds her hand out to Larsa and tells him that no matter what happens, she will be with him as a friend.

* * *

**Snippet**:

"Come on then," she said, and her fingers slipped into his gloved hands with startling ease, as though finally doing so meant nothing at all, as though it had not come only after days of struggle and turmoil, after understand why everything had upended. "We've got a world to save, haven't we? And a few thousand years of tradition to overthrow just before we do that that?"

And when he finally took her hand and began the long walk up to the shining monastery in the sky that had been laying in wait for them for weeks, the shadow he cast on the snow behind him mingled with hers at last.

Then they walk into Mount Bur Omisace and the beginning of the end.

9. The party finally enters Mount Bur Omisace and pair up again with their companions, with Basch coming to stand again at an actually _nervous_ Ashe's side, Balthier loping forward to take comfort in Fran's calming presence and Vaan and Penelo left to look awkwardly at each other as Larsa walks off to see to the Gran Kiltias.

* * *

**Snippet:**

"So," Vaan began, startled, looked achingly uncomfortable, then coughed. "I guess you're-- kinda sorta-- into... well... into little boys now, huh?"

If it had a will beyond its reign on her face, Penelo's answering glare might well have killed him then and there.

"I mean," he amended hastily, throwing his hands up in the air, "I mean, that's not necessarily a _bad_ thing, you know! As long as you just... I dunno... look and not, um, _touch._ Even if even looking is kinda... well..."

"I am not," she finally clarified through teeth gritted enough to snap through bangaa skin, "into little boys. In fact, it's just the opposite. They all seem rather crazily into _me_. And I'm not doing this because I want power or wealth or because I have some sort of fatal attraction towards jail bait that's even younger than I am, Vaan! I'm doing this only because--"

Whatever else she might have had to say, however, was interrupted by Vaan's arm thrown around her, as he pulled her into a hug that would have broken the ribs of a more fragile woman and caused her own to creak now.

And by the time she managed to squirm out of it-- though she took an embarrassingly long time to do it, not that she actually wanted or even _needed_ it, since it wasn't as though she was a damsel in distress again or even been away for long-- all she could see was Vaan's face afterwards, smiling and shaking and contorting into the strangest of shapes, though it had always been as familiar to her as her own.

"If Larsa ever hurts you," he said solemnly, "we'll take him down together. Does that sound good enough?"

And though there was so much Vaan didn't know and so much he _couldn't_ know and so much Larsa had already done to inadvertently hurt her...

Still, Penelo found herself smiling and on the verge of the strangest sort of tears when she nodded back to him, feeling as though, even after leaving Rabanastre, she still had a bit of home.

"Hell yes," she said, and his shoulder, when he came to stand beside her, was reassuringly firm against her own. "After all, nobody's better than a Rabanastran in a street rumble. No Archadian could ever compare to us."

"Yeah," he grunted in what he must have assumed was an intimidating fashion, feeling so much like what she had left behind, standing strong beside her. "Although... gotta say, I'm not sure how heroic it would be if we challenged him to a fist fight, considering there _are_ two of us. And he's like half our size. And he looks like he could snap in half if we just took one _good_ staff and..."

"Vaan?" she interrupted lightly.

"Yeah?" he murmured, voice going all funny and tender.

"I'm really gonna miss telling you to shut the hell up. So just for me... for one last time... please, please, please, _please_ just do it."

"Heh," he cackled. "Why the hell not? Though I hope you know that I'm expecting a _lot_ of compensation from having to now think about the wedding night between you and Emperor Badtouch--"

Even as a child, Penelo had always known that Vaan would lead an interesting life. It was a real pity that it had ended so suddenly, and without any warning whatsoever.

* * *

10. Shortly afterwards, Larsa returns to escort the Gran Kiltias Anastasis to his throne, only to have the scenery chewed from right under his dramatic under-bite by Al Cid making his usual dramatic entrance. Al Cid allows the Gran Kilitas to make his usual prophetic speeches about the future of peace being embodied by the people here and then listens to Larsa explain his plans to undertake a marriage between himself and the future Lady Penelo of Dalmasca (currently the member in the Lady Ashe's party most likely to die of absolute humiliation) in order to suture together the fissures created between Dalmascan freedom and Archadian imperialism.

11. However, before Larsa can formally petition the Gran Kiltias to declare he and Penelo to be engaged in a marriage that he is sure his father will endorse, Al Cid finally bursts out with his news: that the Emperor Gramis was poisoned, that members of the senate were judged guilty, and that Vayne Solidor had taken advantage of the series of events to consolidate complete control over Archadia, declaring martial rule and a cessation of the writ of habeas corpus that would allow him to decide the fate of every man, woman and creature within the realm. Though Al Cid does not say it, Penelo quickly puts together how much power Vayne wields now with warnings from both Balthier and Larsa on how ruthless Vayne can be. She then realizes Vayne likely killed Gramis himself, to become the next emperor. And when she turns to look at Larsa's startled, bone white, eminently still face, she realizes that he must believe as much, confirming the fact in her mind.

12. Soon after the Gran Kiltias informs them that, in light of this all, he cannot grant any of their party any more help and that his own death will come shortly at the hands of the Archadians that have come to fetch Larsa back. At this reminder, Larsa (still white and silent and on his last legs from learning of how all his hopes and schemes have collapsed utterly with his brother's betrayal and his father's death) turns and flees to the sanctuary of a private room. Few others seem to notice him, concerned as they are with figuring out what to do next and whether or how to deal with the Archadians when they finally arrive. Therefore, Penelo turns and runs to look for Larsa herself, having to frantically search and interrogate what seems to be half of the personnel in the building before she finds him in the humble bedroom of an unknown discipline of Bur Omisace.

13. She finds him huddled on top of the straw bed, looking very small and very isolated and shockingly vulnerable, far more so than he has ever ever appeared to her before. It takes her some time, however, to summon the courage to go to him and even do so much as to put her hands around his shoulders, sure she is intruding into something private that she has no right to look into. But when he doesn't pull away, Penelo makes a fumbling attempt to speak and to let him know she has some idea as to what he might be going through with his father's death.

* * *

**Snippet**:

"I'm sorry," she began, the words running over to trip themselves across the clumsy mass of her tongue, spilling hastily down her insensible lips, to reach small, pierced ears that seemed unable to hear her. "I'm really sorry this happened, Larsa-- I know your father meant so much to you. I know you loved him a lot. I-- when my parents died, I-- I just fell to pieces, even though I still had my broth-- I still had people in my life, like I know you have people in _your_ life. Friends and fam-- those judges of yours. They'll be with you but I won't lie-- it'll still be hard. Losing anyone you love is hard, and it hurts. And no matter what people say or do to try and help you, it'll hurt for a long time afterwards. And-- and it's normal for it to feel that way. It doesn't mean you're broken. You won't die of this. You'll heal afterwards. It won't get better for a long time. It won't even feel better for even longer. But you can get through this. You'll get through this. I'll do anything I can to help."

He said nothing, though his shoulders did not shift from her hands. He would still not gaze at her.

* * *

14. With Larsa refusing to speak or even look at her, Penelo finally finds herself unable to stay in a confined room with him out of a combination of guilt and her own feelings of inadequacy. Finally, pushed to her limits and nearly in tears herself, she heads blindly out of the room, deciding that at the least, she can find a few creature comforts-- such as a blanket or some water or _anything_ that might help Larsa-- to assuage his grief where she's proven inadequate. And it's only when she's halfway down the hall that she realizes that this could be the chance she had been waiting for. She could finally use this time-- with Archadia in chaos, with Larsa too apparently shattered to speak up for himself, with all hopes for Dalmascan peace apparently dashed-- to break the agreement to marry Larsa.

And what frightens her the most is not even that she can think that way-- she's come very far from the more politically innocent girl she had been even a week before-- but that she can feel so hopelessly tempted by the notion... and be so selfish in the midst of another's pain, as hopes for peace shatter with a man's death and nearly everyone scurrying around in the palace before her sentenced to suffer war and death.

15. And with that thought in mind-- colliding with her fear of Larsa being killed as soon as he's sent back to Archadia, intersecting with her budding empathy for his shock and recent loss, catalyzed by her own mixed feelings of tenderness and compassion and guilt and friendship towards him, mixing with her growing fear of what might happen to him if he survives Vayne but grows up feeling abandoned by the world and thus inspired to caused the same hurt his brother does-- Penelo turns back, walks into Larsa's room, takes him into her arms firmly and makes her decision.

* * *

**Snippet**

"I will come with you to Archadia," she whispered, against the salt of his cheek, against the silk of his hair, arms twined firmly around his thin form, fingers settling atop his bird-strong heart. "I will come with you to Archadia if you want me to. I won't abandon you now."

And the way he buried his salt-slick face against her throat so easily, so _trustingly_, so unknowingly of what she had been thinking previously... of how she had pictured him dead or gone or simply _wrong_...

He was still wordless, still trusting, still innocent, still yearning. She had never seen him this silent before, this silent or this vulnerable or this ready for her protection, not merely her affection or love.

"Hush," she soothed, and her arms went around him as though she wanted nothing more than to hold him, to buoy him up against what could come. "Hush. I'm with you now and I won't leave so easily. I'll be there, even if you should stand in front of armies."

And though she said it not, she thinks: _I'll be there, even if you should fall to them. There if you should fall with your brother's knife at your back-- or with his ideals are trapped in your heart._

* * *

16. And soon after, the party leaves her to visit the Stilshrine of Miriam-- though not without a fight, with Basch worrying about her impulsiveness again, Vaan worrying about her sanity and Balthier cautioning her once more about Vayne's usual means of control (not through merely fear or power but also through _love_). Only Fran and Ashe among the party seem willing to let Penelo go-- Fran because she believes in Penelo as a warrior and Ashe because she sees the tactical advantage of having someone "on the inside" who could possibly rendezvous with the party later with information on Vayne's tactics or plans. By firmly putting her foot down and also revealing her newfound goal of keeping Larsa from either being killed messily or becoming as warped as his brother, Penelo finally manages to get most in Ashe's entourage to agree to allowing her to go to Archadia as Larsa's "captive," just as he had been theirs.

Finally, the party leaves, with Ashe giving Penelo a respectful nod, Balthier hissing one last word of caution, Fran handing her magecraft to study as she is away, Basch giving her one last warning about keeping her temper, and Vaan hugging her with ridiculous strength once more and promising to come back to kick her ass if she gets herself killed in the meantime.

Soon after, the Archadians come to escort Lord Larsa and Plus One back to Archadia. And Penelo does her best to mentally prepare to meet Vayne Solidor.

Thanks to Balthier, she believes she knows enough about him and his tactics to evade being either seduced or destroyed by him or his followers.

She doesn't know yet that she's unbelievably wrong.

* * *

**Author's Note**: So, is my fledgling attempt to finish the series while taking the laziest route out possible a good idea? A bad idea? Should I give up now? Do you still want to see what goes on to the end of the game time line? And if anyone is interest in seeing a scene or two from the good half-dozen or so chapters I've glossed over now be written, let me know and I'll see if the muse strikes. ;)

And thanks again goes to all the lovely people who have taken the time to read and review this series, especially **Moontear** and **Jennamajarie**, who did a fab job looking this over. Thank you, my dear hearts!


End file.
